


Enlightenment

by Ainikki



Series: Enlightenment [1]
Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: (oops! there's a plot now), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Child Abuse, Dark, Dororo as proto-Nobunaga (why not?), Fix-It, Gen, Intrigue, OCs only not the mains, Post-Series, Rape, Rape Recovery, Treachery, but there are no gods in this universe sooo, but there are still demons, loose appropriation of Buddhism and Shintoism, some-world building but I'm saving for the sequel, that's probably enough tags now, there may not be demons in Kaga, this is a sexist universe but Dororo is not having it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ainikki/pseuds/Ainikki
Summary: Hyakkimaru's wanderings through feudal Japan after the fall of Daigo--and Dororo's life without him in it.





	1. First Path: Samma Ditthi: Right Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> One of many (many, many) ideas I had after the "Dororo" finale was to put Hyakkimaru on the eightfold Buddhist path as one means to make him more human. I resisted writing this, to no avail, but fair warning: it is going to be a beast.

The mountains appear larger with his eyes than they ever had in his mind. Before he'd recovered his eyes, his mental landscape had filled in the details of his world only with what he had needed to perceive for survival. The grand height of mountains and huge emptiness of the sky are new riches, and he stares readily, pushing his eyes open until they hurt and blink without his permission.

Not everything he sees is pleasant.

Crossing over the mountains to the Hall of Hell had presented more opportunities to enjoy beauty than he'd expected, but when he sees the corpses littering abandoned rice fields or half-butchered horses with their carcasses gone, he is not surprised. Jukai had told him all about the world before he'd gone out into it, and sight makes those lessons clearer.

Every new part he has recovered has some sort of learning curve. He supposes eyes will take some getting used to.

Even when stepping over corpses on his way up the stairs to the Hall of Hell, he feels an ache where Jukai should be. Another, similar one where there should be Dororo. He has come to this hall for closure, and understanding, but mostly he has come to say goodbye to his past self. Jukai had made that as easy as possible for him, but he'll also never see him again. 

The statue under his worn-out kimono chafes against his skin and reminds him that he doesn't intend to see Dororo again, either. It's goodbye to his old self, for good or ill. He needs to find out who he is now.

The Hall of Hell stands before him, eerie and falling apart in places; until he sees the roof half-blasted he does not realize that he'd expected it to be whole, like himself. The touch of irony in finding the source of his brokenness also broken almost makes him smile.

Then he hears noise--breathing, speaking--from inside, and holds his breath at the temple entrance. This experience does not match his expectations; he had thought to come here alone, but someone--or something--has already beaten him here.

It doesn't smell like a demon. He sees nothing obviously amiss. The doors of the temple are intact and slightly ajar; he pushes them open, looking for the source of the sound.

He isn't surprised to see Daigo. Or maybe he is, and he is just so accustomed to Daigo interfering with his quests for completeness and understanding that he allows Daigo's presence, wherever it intrudes, as a sort of constant, fixed element in his life. Daigo doesn't appear to be surprised to see him either, and when he remarks on Hyakkimaru's wholeness his tone is mocking as usual.

There are two swords in the room, one in front of Daigo, and one just behind, in Hyakkimaru's easy reach. Sun streams in from the open doors behind them. An open wound spills blood from Daigo's forehead down his face and drips to the floor, making him appear slightly crazed. Hyakkimaru is silent and still.

Daigo snorts and says with his back to him, "You're looking at this world for the first time. How do you find this country? Is it beautiful to you?"

Hyakkimaru would not apply the world 'beautiful' to many things he has seen. The Hall of Hell, and its burned and war-torn surroundings, is among the least beautiful things he's seen. He replies with only minimal hesitation: "It's not pretty."

Daigo agrees with him. Daigo blames him for it. Daigo has always blamed him for his own problems. Hyakkimaru understands that he and Daigo live and act with reciprocation. His father's actions at his birth have made it impossible for them to live independent lives. What one does has always affected the other--up to now. 

When Daigo starts talking about his personal philosophy of "kill or be killed," Hyakkimaru focuses more fully on the present moment. It seems that Daigo still intends to be a threat to him. "I will live through this hell," Daigo insists. "If the demons need a sacrifice, I will give them another."

It comes out without thinking: "You would give me to the demons again?"

"Why not?" Daigo returns, mocking--always mocking, never treating him like a person. Never treating anyone like a person, as far as Hyakkimaru knows. For an instant, Hyakkimaru remembers his world shrinking around rage and fear as another temple burned around him and armed soldiers came at him to kill him, kill more children, and he'd--

He blinks. Realizes that Daigo lives in that state all the time. Daigo is already in hell. He has been, this whole time. Blaming Hyakkimaru is one excuse of many.

At the same instant, he knows Daigo's threat is empty. There are no more demons in this land. He's killed them all already.

When that sinks in, he does smile, though Daigo doesn't see it.

"If I ever made a mistake, it was in leaving you to the midwife," Daigo says clearly, but he doesn't turn to face Hyakkimaru. "I should have taken you in my own two hands and strangled you to death." Hyakkimaru listens with dispassion and knows this for what it is: boasting. Big talk. Empty. If Daigo truly meant what he said, Hyakkimaru would be shocked. He just wants to appear strong.

Dororo had boasted a lot too, for the same reason. He misses her.

Daigo picks up steam as he talks, trying to goad him most likely. The statue Hyakkimaru is carrying shifts toward the front, and he remembers his errand. He pulls the sword behind Daigo up, and Daigo smiles a little--he probably thinks he's riled Hyakkimaru up. "If I die, I will join my son Tahoumaru and protect these lands as a demon."

Hyakkimaru is fairly certain that death doesn't work that way. This speech just serves to remind Hyakkimaru that Daigo chose his other son to raise. If Hyakkimaru had not come to know Tahoumaru--and know him fairly well, via their shared language of fighting--he might have been jealous.

But Tahoumaru--sacrificed, dead Tahoumaru--had been far more broken than he had ever been. Meeting him after knowing who he was, thoughts of jealousy had never occurred to him again.

Hyakkimaru thrusts the sword into Daigo's helmet and places the statue at his feet, calm. Daigo goes slack-jawed and speechless for a moment. Then, the inevitable question: "Why?"

It's satisfying, his confusion, and Hyakkimaru considers walking off without saying a word. He's placed the goddess of mercy here. He's definitely discovered a few answers. He should be able to leave now.

But this is about a new start. "I'm not going down your road," Hyakkimaru says. "I'm human. You--don't become a demon. Live as a person."

Hyakkimaru hears Daigo's blood dripping on the floor as he leaves.


	2. First Path: Samma Ditthi: Right Understanding (Dororo Side)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning from Biwamaru that Hyakki had essentially abandoned her and had no intention of coming back, Dororo is initially optimistic...Then two days pass, then three, and Hyakkimaru still doesn't come back.
> 
> Dororo doesn't understand a lot of things, but she stays busy.

After learning from Biwamaru that Hyakki had essentially abandoned her and had no intention of coming back, Dororo is initially optimistic. She had been with Hyakkimaru through his entire journey of becoming whole; surely he didn't intend to ditch her so easily? And so she chatters on carelessly as the hours tick by, and helps the villagers put together a rationing table to help sort out how much food they've got and how long it'll last. That done, she turns her quick mind to the rebuilding schedule and makes some adjustments; she's not very physically strong, but she knows how to rotate the workers so that no one's so tired they fall over when they start working.

Then two days pass, then three, and Hyakkimaru still doesn't come back.

His absence makes Dororo frenzied. She seems to pop up everywhere: on top of roofs being rebuilt (startling at least one worker into falling off), cleaning pots in the communal kitchen, uprooting and replanting hedgerows against erosion and flood. Biwamaru observes her, and the rest of the village, as it emerges from its post-battle fatigue.

Food and clothing are in shortest supply; this is not surprising. He can't do much about clothing, but each day he rises at dawn to pick mushrooms, fall berries, herbs for medicine: all the things he would ordinarily stockpile for himself, he brings to the village. Occasionally, he is able to fell some game but this is rare. He can't go chasing after it all day; there isn't time. Not with all the village's needs.

When Biwamaru wakes on the third day, there is a cluster of six children waiting outside the building he's chosen to shelter him. They follow him foraging, newly woven baskets in hand, and together they pick the forest clean.

Dororo is not among them. When Biwamaru returns that day and looks for her, he finds her in a tangle of dried reeds--weaving baskets with bloody hands. He can perceive the prick-marks glowing red with his soul-vision; Dororo is driving herself mad. He says, "Dororo, child--"

The concentrated hatred--or is it self-loathing?--in her silence makes him quiet. He takes his day's foraging to the storerooms near the kitchens and finds the other children already there. A little boy, the stableboy Ryouma by the smell, stands near him as he puts his basket of mushrooms down, and Biwamaru asks, "Is Dororo all right?"

Ryouma shrugs. "As all right as the rest of us, Mr. Priest. I think her brother died."

Yes. Something like that had happened. Perhaps it would be easier on Dororo if Hyakkimaru were actually dead instead of just..gone. Gone, with no certainty of return. No one knows where. 

On the fourth morning, the basic structural integrity of the local ironworks is restored to something approaching normal. Two blacksmiths and one apprentice had survived the battle and are still in town. They don't go immediately to work, however; most of their stock had been stolen or (in the case of supplies) had gone bad through contamination or long storage. So it isn't until the fifth day that Biwamaru can even look into getting his lute sword repaired. There's no way for the villagers to rush, and he doesn't expect them to, but the head blacksmith claims that he'll see what he can do.

Heh. Sight metaphors. Biwamaru is half-convinced that he perceives the world more clearly without sight than he ever would have with it.

Dororo doesn't speak to him for ten days after that, for all that he passes her every morning after breakfast, and every evening before dinner, in the ruins of Daigo's burned hall. She takes her meals there alone, perhaps because it's the last place she and Hyakkimaru had talked. It's also a high vantage, affording a view in all directions--in case he comes back. 

Biwamaru knows he's not coming back--at least, not in a hurry. He needs to make his own preparations for winter, so he puts in an appearance to say goodbye to her in the hopes that she won't take this leavetaking for another abandonment. He fully intends to return. He's just not sure when.

He finds Dororo sulking, money pouch in one hand and a half-eaten bowl of rice in the other. Her chopsticks dance along the edge of the wood, and Biwamaru can feel steam still rising from the hot porridge.

Dororo only half-eating anything is a troubling omen. He sits near her and moves his repaired sword up and down in its lute sheath, designed to conceal the weapon; the repair is imperfect and the blade knocks as he draws it. He reflects that both he and Dororo have lost important support scaffolding in their lives recently. Biwamaru relies on his sword more than his eyes, and Dororo had relied on Hyakkimaru as much parent as sibling, it seems. 

He takes a moment to reflect on loss, repair, and gratitude. He has his sword back, in acceptable condition. Dororo has a safe place to live, food to eat, and clean clothes. There is much to be grateful for.

He doesn't expect her to see her situation in a grateful light. She's young, and not terribly far-sighted (as the seeing folk are wont to say). Her family is dead. Her chosen family had abandoned her. Any normal person would be dispirited.

Biwamaru hates to leave her this way, but there are other people to help, other demons to fight, and preparations to survive the winter without a permanent home. He can't stay with her forever, especially with her refusing to talk.

"I'm off," he says pleasantly, tipping his sword over his shoulder and inclining his head slightly.

She blinks. "Off--where?"

He shrugs. "The wide world."

He feels her concentrated focus on him like a beam of sunlight. "Are you going to find Hyakki?"

"That's not my intention, no."

"Then why don't you stay here?"

"I'm not needed here. Other people may need my help. The roads aren't always safe."

"The same is true for you, old man."

He laughs a little, low, and says, "Perhaps, but I'm tougher than most of the things on that road. I'll take my chances."

She sighs, high-pitched like a whine. "I don't get it," she says. "First Hyakki, then you--isn't part of being a whole person finding a home? A family? Building something? I don't know..."

"Being whole is not the same as being human," Biwamaru says carefully. "Hyakkimaru told me that he wanted to learn to be human."

She snorts. "Why couldn't he do that here?" With me? 

The unspoken question hangs heavier in the air than the spoken one. "You are young. When you are older, you will understand that some places become attached to events in memory--unfortunate events--and it can be impossible to move past those events while staying in that place."

Dororo's brow scrunches up for a moment, and she nods. "I never want to go back to the place my mother died." Her voice becomes thicker for a moment; she sounds older and sadder than her ordinary self. "Would it really be so painful for him--here? He didn't grow up here, and..."

She trails off, and Biwamaru hms. "Consider that this place is where he was supposed to be born and raised. Instead, he was discarded--thrown away as worthless. Would you be able to call such a place home?"

"No," Dororo says quietly. She wipes her eyes. "No. But I think he could. If I changed it."

"Changed it?" Interesting idea. These children had always been interesting, since the first time he'd seen Hyakkimaru cursed in a river--and the first time he'd helped him save Dororo's life. "How?"

She gestures to something in front of her, and he figures it is probably something on a piece of paper. A map? A contract?

"That's what I'm thinking about," she says, and the paper rustles in her hands. "If you'll stay with me for a few more days, I have a few ideas I'd like to talk through..."


	3. Second Path: Right Thought (Samma Sankappa) - Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyakkimaru thinks that some people deserve to die. He probably does, himself. But he also thinks that no one deserves to suffer needlessly--and even those that should suffer shouldn't do so endlessly. Not even the bastard that burned Mio's temple on Daigo's orders. Not even him.
> 
> To Hyakkimaru, it's the difference between beheading someone and starving them to death. Dying before you feel it is better than lingering in agony. He should know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, violence and more violence. It's been a long time since I wrote a lengthy pitched battle. (Basically, Hyakkimaru vs. 20 bad guys, some with guns).

Hyakkimaru spends two weeks traveling to the edge of Kaga province and stays there, right on the line between Daigo's land and Asakura territory, until he can figure out which way to go.

Getting out of Daigo's lands makes the most logical sense, of course, but fleeing to Daigo's bitterest enemies (considering his bloodline if nothing else) makes no sense at all--unless vengeance is his aim.

And is it? During his silent hours alone on the road, he's considered many things concerning both his current situation and his past. He usually decides to think of himself as lacking a past--newly born--which is true, in some ways, but false in too many others to name.

The Goddess of Mercy had spared his mind, and his mind does sometimes crave revenge. Payback. He wants to kill more demons and there are none left to kill. He wants to find the man that burned a temple with children to the ground on his lord's orders, rip his heart out, and squeeze until the light leaves his eyes.

A tiny, treacherous part of his mind mocks him for not killing Daigo when he had the chance.

_I cannot,_ he insists in his own mind. _I am not_...What, exactly? A monster? A demon? Cursed? Angry?

He doesn't know, so he mutters "can't, not," under his breath like a derelict, broken and stuck in place.

While he does still want to kill, he also wants to find a place where killing anyone or anything isn't strictly necessary, or necessary at all. A place untouched by death. A peaceful place.

It would be more appealing if the thought of it didn't feel so empty. That place probably doesn't exist--can't exist, no matter how much he hopes for it.

He can't forget his past because he's been hunted by monsters for as long as he can remember. Just because he can't see them anymore doesn't mean they aren't there, in his head, forever. He's not sure he's ever going to feel safe.

He mutters and paces the northern tip of the province between two bridges, bouncing back and forth but never quite crossing either, for the better part of two hours. Then he takes the bridge in the direction that smells most like the ocean. He can smell it--he has smelled it before, but he has never been there.

The ocean is--magnificent. Vast, wide, green-blue and white with foam, ripples forming ridges like fingerprints close to the shore. He reaches his hands out to it like he's embracing it, briefly overwhelmed by his own littleness.

He blinks salt sting out of his eyes and realizes the sun is going down. He hadn't thought about that until the light started to fail and his eyes hurt from the saltwater. A little ways ahead, right on shore, there is a large building that is illuminated by lanterns. He walks to it, hoping to find shelter for the night--and that he won't have to pay for it immediately.

Perhaps he should have asked Dororo for a bit of money, before leaving. Too late now. (Besides, if he'd asked, she almost definitely would have come with him. But really, would that be so bad?)

Yes. He's thought about this a lot, too. Dororo's life has been wrapped up with his for too long. She deserves a normal life, far far away from him. Bringing her with would have been selfish, dangerous, and possibly detrimental to him figuring out the answers to his own questions.

The building he comes to is a Buddhist temple, so in addition to free lodging he is granted a free, if somewhat unappetizing, meal there. He puts some of his own dried meat into the nuns' pot of gruel and is immediately rewarded with a double helping from the prioress' ladle. His father had taught him to feed himself on better than gruel.

No, not his father. Jukai. But he's too tired and hungry to parse that distinction. Perhaps his tired mind is right, anyway. It's not like Daigo had ever taught him much about anything.

The other people staying at the temple glare at him, in confusion or hostility, when he modifies the food, but all he'd wanted to do was make the meal more...substantial. He receives a lot of curious stares as he eats, because there are a lot of people currently staying here, and his behavior is unusual. The swords at his hip probably don't help.

He counts approximately twenty others here at a glance, all wearing armor but in different states of undress. The armor is significantly pockmarked, bloodstained, and without exception all in bad repair; he could rip through all of them in a heartbeat at close range. The knowledge makes him calm. Most of them have small bowls and decanters laid out in front of them: sake, by the smell. Hyakkimaru's nose smarts and he almost coughs. When he's done eating he finds a slightly damp corner farther removed from the rest of the men and plants his back against the wall. He's more than used to sleeping sitting up.

A kid some years younger than him appears at his shoulder, and he jumps. "Hey, easy," the kid says. "Thanks for the food, sir. The nuns can't get much, and..."

"Don't thank me. It was no trouble."

The kid nods. "I'm Tarou. I live here."

"Hyakkimaru. I don't."

The kid smiles a little. "Yeah, I gathered. Are you a samurai? You don't look old enough."

"I'm not," Hyakkimaru says. "My dad was one, though." Jukai and Daigo had both been samurai, of different sorts. He's of age and trained as a samurai, but serves no lord and has no family. A ronin at best, then. That's a samurai of a sort, but he has more in common with a kicked dog. "Why do you ask?"

The boy shrugs. "Recruiters in town. Looking for people to join a fighting force against the Asakura clan."

Already? That seems fast. Hyakkimaru had thought the power void left by Daigo's fall would take some time to fill; two weeks doesn't seem like long at all. Perhaps Daigo had picked himself up somehow. Or perhaps someone else had stepped up into the gap. Hyakkimaru isn't sure which scenario he prefers.

"I'm not for hire," he says neutrally, and feels the atmosphere in the room tighten like an arrow nocked against a bowstring. "Just passing through."

"On your way where?"

Hyakkimaru considers pulling his seniority, however slight, and refusing to answer the question. But the kid is interested--not out of any guile or manipulation, it seems, but genuinely interested in who he is and where he is going. Hyakkimaru finds that a bit odd, but he considers that living in a temple for one's whole life is a somewhat limited existence, and hearing strangers' stories from outside is a blip of excitement in an otherwise ordinary life.

There had been a time when he'd wanted that kind of life for himself. Now he's not sure how long it could have lasted.

Still, for his own sake, he hopes Tarou has a long, boring life.

For that reason, he decides to tell a little bit of the truth. "I don't know," he says softly. "I'm from Kaga province. I fight monsters."

"Monsters?" Tarou's eyes grow wide. "There's no such thing."

He smiles. "Maybe you just haven't seen them yet."

***

The night passes noisily, what with all the people, but Hyakkimaru can sleep through almost anything so long as his physical self isn't threatened. He'd developed a heightened sense of threats to his person when he'd been blind--and going to sleep after losing his deafness had been a life lesson in disciplinary control.

He still doesn't care for hearing, most of the time. The snores of the soldiers are certainly unpleasant. Their singing is the worst he's ever heard. And their flatulence...well, he'd consider food doctoring if they weren't all generally so rude, and if his stomach had become upset by the meal.

It hadn't. He's used to coarse meal and short rations. He wouldn't have minded bringing in fresh fish--it's close to shore here--but as the youngest warrior here he would have been obliged to share with everyone else, and there is no such thing as "sharing" with twenty other people.

If Jukai hadn't warned him about the world's class structure, he'd be hungry a lot more often.

Sharing sleeping space isn't ideal, either, but at least it's out of the wind, even if it isn't strictly warm and dry. He awakens before dawn, everything dark for a few moments as his eyes adjust.

He realizes there is no noise. Perhaps that is what had awakened him: no snores, no movement, no shifting. The air is less stuffy. The soldiers are gone.

Gone where?

He rolls over and to his feet in one smooth motion, loosens one sword in its scabbard and gets the other ready. He's used to two-handed style but not used to his reach yet. He sincerely hopes he doesn't have to fight anyone in the dark, because his accuracy is shit. He knows he can do damage, but he prefers to be efficient.

He thinks that some people deserve to die. He probably does, himself. But he also thinks that no one deserves to suffer needlessly--and even those who should suffer shouldn't do so endlessly. Not even the bastard that burnt Mio's temple on Daigo's orders. Not even him.

To Hyakkimaru, it's the difference between beheading someone and starving them to death. Dying before you feel it is better than lingering in agony. He should know.  
  
Dororo would probably tell him that dead's dead, either way. He thinks he'd heard her voice when he'd first woken up, but that's probably just sense memory, borne of too many nights like this with her.

Thinking of her makes him look for the children, and sure enough, he finds Tarou and a younger girl, perhaps ten, sleeping in the corner farthest from the fire. The soldiers hadn't taken them, at least. The nuns are in a separate room, but he's fairly certain he would have heard them if they'd called for help.

"Fairly certain" is not "certain," so he tiptoes on old floorboards to the room where the nuns sleep to verify that they are accounted for and safe.

There is a thin curtain hanging between the general mess area and the nuns' quarters. He has good night vision: consequently, he can see that all the nuns are in their beds; no exceptions. He's relieved for a moment until he realizes he can't hear anything.

No breathing. Silence.

Grimly, he walks over to the berth closest to the door and shakes the nun's shoulders twice. She doesn't wake.

Poison. Sake, probably, since the children aren't dead and neither is he.

At the same moment he realizes the woman is dead, he smells smoke.

Fire. He doesn't think: he sprints back into the mess hall as fast as blinking and grabs one living child in each arm. The girl grumbles, but Tarou is sleeping like the dead. Hyakkimaru can't reach his swords this way, but that's a secondary concern; he has to get them out of here.

There's a guard on the main entrance to the temple, but only one. From this distance, Hyakkimaru can't tell if the guard is there to defend the temple, or is one of the soldiers making sure the group's plan is executed correctly. Hyakkimaru sees him before he's seen, and takes a running start to get enough height to knock him out cold with two feet to the head. He's barefoot, and the bone-on-bone crack is sickening, but he couldn't think of a better way to get past the guard without dropping the children.

He pauses for a moment to verify the guard's identity, in case he also needs saving, and is somewhat relieved that it's the first soldier that glared at him after putting meat in the gruel. "I guess he didn't trust me, either," he mutters.

The girl is wide awake now and squirming, so he lets her down. "What's going on?" she insists, indignant, pouting, and absolutely nothing like Dororo. Too cute--and too scared.

"The soldiers want to burn the temple down," he explains. "I'm going to stop them, if I can."

At least these soldiers hadn't slaughtered the children. If they had, he might have to reevaluate his core belief that no one deserves to suffer endlessly. He sets Tarou down gently and says, "I need to leave him in your care. But if I can protect you, I will."

Her eyes are huge and round and wet with tears. She nods firmly, once, and Hyakkimaru hands her his knife with a grimace. "If that guy gets up," he says, indicating the felled guard, "hit him with the handle of this in the back of the head before he can stand. As hard as you can. Got it?"

She nods.

Good. He can't be in two places at once; he needs to find a water source to put out the fire. With any luck, the guard will be out cold for a while. He could kill him--he might later--but killing him like this feels cowardly.

If suspicious soldier #1 comes to and attacks the kids, Hyakkimaru will cut his heart out.

There's an estuary that cuts into the ocean. He can't see it, not in the half-darkness, but he can feel the path beneath his feet, gradated and carved by water, and he follows the gradation to the source, hoping he'll find buckets or cleaning tools to carry the water in when he reaches it.

The other soldiers are gathered near the estuary. They have no open fire, but they do have torches and lanterns: dozens of dots of light in the dark. Hyakkimaru can see, based on movement and shape recognition: two archers, half a dozen people carrying long, tubular metallic weapons that he doesn't recognize, twelve foot soldiers armed with pikes and swords. Not a large force, but more than sufficient to drive peasants wherever they want them to go--and certainly more than enough to burn one insignificant temple.

Twenty in all, he guesses, so it must be all the men from the temple last night, barring a few of their friends that are probably too drunk to walk--unless they'd poisoned their own friends with sake, too, but Hyakkimaru considers that unlikely. Hyakkimaru remembers thinking how easily he could take this group out the night before, but this is not a confined space. Given room and range, picking Hyakkimaru off will be a piece of cake for this lot.

But they have to see him first, and he intends to make that difficult.

The estuary is rocky; peasants must have carried some heavy boulders here to help the shore resist further erosion. There are also long-legged mangrove-type trees with twisting roots along the shore, and the accompanying ground cover. He considers himself fortunate: there is plenty of cover here.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees two foot soldiers, unsteady on their feet and a little ways away from the others, perhaps as much as twenty meters. Hyakkimaru unsheathes silently and prays that he can give them a good clean death--or at least a quiet one.

They go down without seeing him, without a struggle, almost without sound: his left sword chopped the head off cleanly, but his right severed the neck without detaching the head. _Slow_, he scolds himself, _clumsy_, but aside from two muffled thunks as the bodies hit the forest floor, there is no sound.

Hyakkimaru leaves the bodies where they fall and retreats behind the rocks nearest of the men, waiting for an alarm to be called and a hue and cry raised to find him--but it doesn't come.

Three more, on the other side of the camp, playing dice. He wishes there were only two. He pulls his cloak in tightly around himself for camouflage and climbs the tree under which the men are playing, slowly easing his way out to a branch overhead.

The branch is thin and gives more than he likes, but it's sturdy enough to hold him. He waits for a moment of inattention--reaching for a sake flask or provisions--and lets himself fall with his swords out, cutting down two men on each side of the torch.

That does leave the third, but he's shocked--Hyakkimaru had been counting on this--and a quick slash to his neck takes care of him, as well.

Five down. Fifteen to go.

The thought of such a fight brings him no pleasure; he's not sure he'll win. And he's still not entirely comfortable with killing people that aren't directly threatening him--even if all the evidence points to them being fine with Hyakkimaru dying in his sleep.  
  
He pushes his back against the vines and concentrates on the sounds of the camp. His demonic vision had been more reliable than eyes in the dark; he misses it now, but hearing can help him cover the lack. These men certainly aren't concerned with stealth; he picks out heavy breathing, laughter, coughing from smoke.

Stupid, basically.

The next is a group of four, all gathered around two torches stuck in the ground on poles, standing with weapons out. They are alert, or close to it, and four-on-one is fair odds for Hyakkimaru, but he's sure they'll raise the alarm if he attacks.

Unable to accept that risk, he decides on distraction.

He backtracks to the men that had died playing dice, swipes the dice, the fullest sake bottle, and their torch. He takes a meandering route behind the group of four, dripping alcohol along the way. When the men are in his line of sight, he takes aim and tosses one die at the closest man's head.

The man yells, "Ow!" and grasps his eye. Good hit. Hyakkimaru takes the second die and lobs it at the man standing nearest the fire. It hits his forehead full force and knocks him out cold.

The men that are not wounded now begin looking for him--which is what he expects. He drops the torch and leaps into the tree in front of him, arms out, missing his attached swords terribly, as the entire forest goes up in smoke behind him.

Oil burns better, but alcohol will do in a pinch. He wishes the fire were brighter, but it will take some time to build.

Still, it covers his tracks--and surprisingly, none of the men have called for help. Perhaps it's because they don't know where they're under attack from? Or are they just poorly trained?

The two hale men run toward the smoke. He lets them both pass under him and drops next to their torches, where he makes quick work of the blinded man and the man knocked out. He smothers the torches with his cape--fireproof thanks to Jukai's craftsmanship--and hides in the dark, waiting for the men to backtrack. He places the unconscious (now dead) man's helmet on his own head, dons his armor, and plays dead.

He doesn't have to wait long for their return. Seeing three men down instead of one, one of the men does start a call like a bird whistle, but Hyakkimaru trips him, brings him down to his level and slices his chest open from navel to throat.

Then he's up, the other man is screaming, and Hyakkimaru runs his heart through, no mercy and no joy.

Well. Eleven to go.

Four running in his direction; he can hear the footsteps and--another sound. A whispering sound, like thread being pulled taut for stitches.

Archers. He'd known about them, but he'd hoped that at least some had been picked off already.

Hyakkimaru rolls down and away from the light of the smothered torches; the dark is good protection against archers. And his experience with archers suggests that their strength lies in numbers.

Anyone that relies on numbers to fight is vulnerable individually.

He can hear them, so clearly. They don't bother to muffle their footsteps at all. He rips off the helmet he's wearing and hurls it away from himself as far as he can, hoping to lure them close.

They come. All four, same pace, lockstep, talking to one another, relaying information. This is a squad, and accustomed to working together.

They're stupid, or Hyakkimaru is fortunate. He often wonders if there really is a goddess of mercy, and if she truly interferes in human affairs, because she certainly seems to in his case.

They're lined up so neatly in the dark, and they can't see him. He shimmies up a tree, leaps above the leftmost man--or is it a woman?--they're so thin--and drops down, both swords out.

The first sword hits the person in front of him in a vertical slice from the nape of the neck to the base of the spine. The second disembowels the man to the right. It takes Hyakkimaru a second to retrieve his first bloody sword so he blocks an incoming strike using the disemboweled man as a shield, ducking under him as he pulls both weapons free. He's covered in blood but it doesn't matter, not right now. Two swords, two archers--and he's close enough for their bows to be useless.

One archer tries to run. He throws his secondary sword, in his right hand, at the man's retreating back, and he falls. Hyakkimaru is down to one sword, but he doesn't need any to kill.

Before he'd met Dororo, he cannot remember a single day of his life when he has not been obligated to kill something. This is familiar ground: adrenaline, gore. He only wishes the people were monsters. Monsters pose more of a challenge--and fewer ethical problems.

The other archer drops his bow--surrendering. Hyakkimaru doesn't have time for it, but he sighs, turns his sword around, knocks the man out. Takes ten minutes to bind him to the nearest tree and gag him.

The man has violated warrior code and so has he. If his own men find him, they'll probably kill him. But that's not Hyakkimaru's concern at this point.

Seven to go.

The forest floor in front of him slopes sharply upward here; he is downwind. This means he smells something acrid like sulfur--and hears something sharp like metal--before he sees anyone come into view.

It's those people with the long-tubed metal weapons again. Hyakkimaru recalls seeing them once or twice among peddlers' goods: weapons like bows that shot metal at people. The only ones he had ever seen had been in need of repair. There are five people with those weapons that he sees--and one more out in front, in full heavy armor. Silver stitching gleams against the dark patterns in the armor.

Samurai class, then. He should have expected it, but these fighters have all seemed fairly amateur so far. He doesn't know much about these new weapons, but he's willing to bet they're ineffective at close range.

He crouches low--it's better to minimize the target when there are so many enemies with ranged weapons in his sight-line. They're clumsy buffoons like everyone else he's seen today, making noise like a herd of cows to his overly sensitive ears.

They also don't move in formation; there's a group of three, a group of two and the leader, all spread out as if they're performing a search. He smirks.

The leader is at the vanguard. Hyakkimaru lets him pass. Right now, he is the least substantial threat.

The group of two passes next, and Hyakkimaru takes the cheapest shot he has in years and cuts a clean line through both sets of legs, one sword for each set.

The swords can't cut through bone, of course, but both men are instantly crippled--and screaming. They've both dropped their weapons.

Hyakkimaru stands, cover blown, and gives each man a quick stab to the chest while he runs after the leader, some twenty to twenty-five yards ahead. The leader turns to face him, bearing kodachi, and Hyakkimaru smiles, because he thinks this fight might actually be interesting.

Hyakkimaru's swords spray blood in all directions as he parries the leader's two short swords. He's been cleaning the blades as he goes, but fifteen people is a lot in one day, even for him; he hopes Jukai's ghost will forgive him for neglecting his gifted blade a little while longer. The leader attacks strongly, but without finesse, and Hyakkimaru is definitely faster; the armor is too heavy. He takes a running leap off the other man's armor, kicks him down easily because the armor is top-heavy, and lands with both swords sticking out of the man's shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground as blood pools on that thick, ornate armor.

Four to go.

Then Hyakkimaru hears a sickening crack behind him, and there's a sudden sharp pain in his right arm. He drops his sword, reflexively bends to pick it up and can't grip it.

Instinctively, he crouches low, then hides behind the dead leader, making his armor Hyakkimaru's temporarily. He hears another deafeningly loud sound and figures it out: these sounds, and this injury, are from the metal weapons he'd seen before.

Well, they work. He uses his good hand to sheathe his right sword, and keeps his left drawn while he crawls out from behind the cover of the leader's armor.

Another sound. No impact. He doesn't even know what hit him, but he assumes it's a small projectile, like the dice he'd thrown, only faster and more destructive. However, they don't seem to be able to launch the projectiles very fast. If these had been archers, he'd be a pincushion by now.

The pain in his arm helps him focus. He can hear the sound of scraping some twenty feet ahead and to the right; forsaking stealth himself, he sprints for the noise with his sword out and runs the soldier through. His friend is ten feet down the line and his weapon is pointed at him. There is a clicking sound, but nothing emerges from the weapon, and the man panics, breaks and runs.

Hyakkimaru follows and cuts him down from behind, a simple shoulder to hip strike.

Two left. One man with that metal weapon. The other...

He breathes deep, feeling dizzy. He's losing blood. He needs treatment. But he still has work to do. The children aren't safe yet.

The last man has some intelligence: he's climbed a tree, and when Hyakkimaru is below him, he fires his weapon.

A piece of metal ricochets from a tree root directly under Hyakkimaru's foot and embeds itself in the tree. Hyakkimaru raises an eyebrow. "How many shots do you have left?"

"This gun only shoots one."

"Too bad." He runs up the side of the tree, fast as blinking, and stabs the man between the eyes. He falls out of the tree, and Hyakkimaru takes his former position, sitting still and catching his breath.

Nineteen. Where was the last one? There's blood streaming from his shoulder and bright pain makes his mind panic; he has to find the last one--

He breathes and remembers the guard on the gate, and uses the energy that panic gives him to vaunt himself out of the tree and run hard back to the temple, clamping his hand like a vise over his shoulder to stop the bleeding.

The guard is still unconscious when he gets back, but he's starting to stir. Hyakkimaru notices his metal weapon--had the other samurai called it a "gun?"--and takes it for further examination. The temple is almost entirely engulfed in flames. It's too late for water; the temple will soon be a permanent ruin.

The girl is standing a little ways away from him and the gate guard, looking nervous. Tarou has also woken up in his absence. "What the hell happened to you?" he asks, incredulous.

Hyakkimaru smiles bitterly. He has an idea of how he looks. "Do you believe in monsters now?" he asks casually--too casually, but this situation is too familiar for him to summon concern. Everything is fine, for the moment. Ash falls from the sky into his hair. He hadn't saved the temple, but he'd killed or incapacitated the soldiers and rescued the children.

It's the best he can do, and he hates himself.

Tarou nods. "Akiko explained it to me. You saved us. I won't forget."

Hyakkimaru waves this assertion aside. From his own perspective, no one owes him anything. He's glad to know the girl's name; he hadn't thought to ask it before.

Panic over, crisis temporarily averted, the ache in his arm becomes a persistent sharp agony that sends him to his knees in an instant. "What is this?" Hyakkimaru complains into the soft flesh of his right arm. At least it's not his left, but...shit, that hurt! What the hell--

"It's a bullet," Tarou explains. "From a gun. My dad was killed by one."

"And your mother?" Hyakkimaru mutters while blood pools into his kimono and he frantically considers how to take the offending object out.

Then--through blood loss or some sense of renewed concentration--calm settles over his bones. "We need a fire," he says, voice low and level. "Do either of you know how to make one?"

"I do!" both children say together, and they dash off to gather kindling and stones for a pit.

It's too bad they can't use the temple's fire, but if he tried it he would probably die of smoke inhalation by the time his injury was treated. He wants to get out of this place.

Hyakkimaru watches the children go and puts as much pressure on his damaged shoulder as he possibly can without losing consciousness.

The asshole guard soldier from before isn't dead. He shifts a little, and Hyakkimaru lifts his arm with difficulty and smacks the man across of the forehead, rendering him still again.

He takes a look at the crest on the man's armor. Then he looks down at the gun, and frowns. Ashigaru, huh. He doesn't prefer the demons, but he'd certainly prefer something else.


	4. Second Path: Right Thought - Samma Sankappa (Dororo Side)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More survivors, more problems. Dororo has a plan to rebuild Kaga province...but she needs Daigo to help her do it.

Dororo remembers her father. Hibukuro had been an imposing man. Her mother had often said that people gasped when he came into a room. He had possessed the ability to command notice, respect--and, sometimes, hatred. Strong emotions. 

She remembers sitting in his lap while he'd negotiated trade deals between rival groups--some civilian, some samurai, some hopelessly mixed, class-wise--so skillfully and with such authority that no one complained at his arrangements aloud. He had been equally skilled at brokering peace between neighboring towns to create trade routes for food and medicine from place to place. It had been rare for him to make a true enemy, and even rarer for one to successfully attack him--until he'd been betrayed.

Dororo needs her father--or a negotiator just like him--to pull off her plans for Daigo's capital. She is ten years old, female, and despite her fortune (which she'd like to keep secret for both its safety and her own), no one is going to follow her instructions or do as she says.

Finding a charismatic leader that shares her same goals will be...difficult. Perhaps impossible. Initially (lacking Hyakki, who would have been first choice) she had wanted Biwamaru to serve as her intermediary: a voice for her ideas that he could use his charisma and respect as a priest to share. And while Biwamaru hadn't said "no," he also hadn't agreed to help her in that way.

Instead, he had proposed an entirely different idea. A sickening, horrifying, damn near impossible idea. But if she pulls it off...if it all goes as Biwamaru says...then she may get her rebuilt capital after all.

The only problem left would be how to get Hyakki to forgive her.

***

It's quiet in the Hall of Hell. This is the first time Dororo has ever been here, and she'd expected it to be larger and less dingy. The hole in the roof helps with lighting, at least.

Biwamaru is at her right shoulder, and Ryouma, the son of the horsemaster, is behind her because he'd insisted on coming. "For protection," he'd said, puffing out his chest in pride, and Dororo had rolled her eyes but gone along with it. 

She's ten. Her breasts are growing in and her hair's grown out. There's always been a limit to how long she could keep her facade of masculinity in place, and with her staying in place for so long with the same people, that facade has more or less crumbled.

They all stand at the entrance for a moment, and Dororo hesitates, breathing in. The corpses and dried blood on the stairs don't shock her, but she's still nervous about what she'll find inside.

The double doors of the Hall of Hell open with a sickening creaking sound, like the hinges are about to give out. She blinks and her eyes adjust. She sees the shadow of two swords sticking out of the ground before she sees the collapsed man on the floor, unmoving, face-up.

There's a lightning scar on his forehead. Blood cakes half his face and his lips are withered with dehydration, but Dororo would recognize Kagemitsu Daigo anywhere. Something in her chest tightens, caused by a complicated mix of hatred and concern, but her first instinct is to kneel down and check his breathing, because she's seen a lot of corpses that look like this.

He is breathing, faintly. She tells Biwamaru this and he nods. Ryouma has retreated behind him, apparently terrified of the almost-corpse. Dororo almost smiles to herself and remembers that Ryouma probably means well, even if he's definitely more of a coward than she is.

She's fought monsters with Hyakki, and plenty of monsters in human form before that. It takes more than this to scare her. A part of her is actually relieved that she may not have to work with Daigo after all.

"He needs a doctor," Biwamaru says as he feels out a pulse on Daigo's right wrist. "I knew of one that lived not far from here, though that was a long time ago." He takes Daigo's head in his lap, his neck slack and unresistant to the position change, as if he's already dead.

But he is not dead yet, and when Biwamaru tells Dororo to follow the river to the doctor's hut, she obeys his directions as fast as she can go.

Like him or loathe him, Daigo is still Dororo's best option for getting what she wants. The city of Enuma--and the province of Kaga--isn't going to rebuild itself.

Dororo rounds a bend in the river and discovers a small footpath that widens out. As she runs up it, she discovers a branching lined with small stones and a sign with picture lettering on it that she can't read.

"Well, it's in the right place," she mutters, and keeps running, downhill now and faster, until she reaches a small house that can't be more than two rooms. The wood it's made from is gray and weathered; the roof thatching's color nearly matches it, and she considers that the doctor may have abandoned this place, or died.

But she's come this far, so she knocks.

No answer. Wind in the trees. 

Cursing "gods dammit," she spins on her heels to rush back to the Hall of Hell in defeat--

\--and she hears something. Snickety-snack, clickety-clack. Someone cutting something else like wood. She listens closer and discerns footsteps. Someone is here after all.

She paces toward the sounds, not running too fast so that she can hear properly. Sure enough, inside twenty yards she sees a man in the underbrush in the forest behind the house. He's wearing a bandana tightly wrapped around his face, and is walking around with a prosthetic leg that Dororo recognizes.

She's tired, and for a moment she forgets herself. "Hyakki? Is that--you?"

But, no. Hyakkimaru's legs are real now. This must be someone else.

The man turns to look at her and his eyes widen, but she can't see much of his face. He has a basket on his back, presumably for holding the firewood he's cutting. "What are you doing here, child?"

"At the Hall of Hell," she says, remembering her errand. "There's a man--dying--I was sent to get a doctor."

"Dying? Of what?"

"Dehydration," she says. "Blood loss." If there are other things wrong with Daigo, she didn't notice them.

"The doctor is dead," the man says neutrally, "but I may be able to help. Lead the way."

Dororo sprints out of the underbrush before remembering the man's fake leg, but there's no need for her to stop; he runs just fine on the false one. Dororo considers that the doctor that made Hyakkimaru's highly functional false limbs must have lived here. The idea that he's dead now provokes a twinge of sadness in her, even though she'd never known him.

When they arrive back at the Hall of Hell, Dororo pushes the doors wide, and the not-doctor enters behind her and cuts ahead, making a beeline for Daigo's unresponsive body. Biwamaru is still cradling his head, attempting to get him to swallow water from a skin.

"Good," the man remarks with approval. "I see he's stopped bleeding. How much did he lose?"

"I'm not sure, but a lot. I can't tell if he's just unconscious or comatose." He looks over at Ryouma, who is hanging wet rags up on a makeshift rack for drying clothes; bandages, probably. "We've cleaned most of it up with clean bandages, but it took most of what I was carrying.

"Are you a doctor?" the man asks.

"No," Biwamaru says. "But I've lived through a lot of battles."

"Fair enough." The man takes something out from behind him: a large pack. As he opens it and removes items, Dororo steps closer, fascinated; she's never seen a doctor's supplies before.

They turn out to be fairly similar to Biwamaru's: bandages, a needle for stitching skin, a wicked-looking poker that she doesn't want to speculate the use of. But there are also much finer needles than she's seen before, as well as a collection of prosthetics in pieces that look a lot like the ones Hyakki used to have.

Was this the man that had given Hyakki his false body? Maybe, but she doesn't think so. He looks too young. It seems more likely that the doctor had a son. She's itching to ask him who he is, exactly, but he and Biwamaru are too concerned about Daigo's condition, so she bites her tongue.

"I'll take over from you with the water," the man tells Biwamaru. "If you can, you and the boy should get a fire started. I'd like to seal the edges of the head injury against infection."

"Good thinking," Biwamaru says. He rises gently, keeping Daigo's head elevated, and passes the skin to the man. The man takes it and pushes more water down Daigo's throat, one painstaking sip at a time.

"You, girl," he says, not polite but not quite abrupt either. "Are there any rain barrels outside? We might try soaking him. It's a long shot, but..."

"I'll look."

She goes outside again and sees storm clouds gathering, but it's not raining yet. She hopes it doesn't; the Hall's roof is far from whole, and she wishes herself back home in her own bed at that moment.

Heh. Home. Never thought she'd actually have one of those. And a safe one with her own things and food, to boot. Her parents would be proud.

She scans the perimeter of the temple for rain barrels, and has come almost-full circle in despair when she finds one: only three-quarters full and a little under her height. She puts the lid on and rolls it, no problem, thinking that it may not be big enough for soaking purposes, but it's plenty big enough to provide cooking water and water to boil bandages, which may be just as important in the long run.

She rolls the barrel back into the hall. Biwamaru has gotten some dry kindling started on fire, loose stones acting as a barrier against it spreading out indoors. In the light of the flames, the two swords embedded in the floor look eerie; their shadows move as if they were alive.

The first sword she fixates on is definitely Daigo's; the hilt bears his mark. And the second--the one closest to a statue of the Goddess of Mercy--is also familiar.

"This is Hyakki's backup sword," she says aloud in awe, lifting it in two hands. Not one of the ones that had been embedded in his arms: those are likely still with him. No. This had been his other sword, the one he'd worn at his side so that people would know he was armed. The one he'd worn to look like an ordinary samurai on an ordinary quest.

This is not the sword she wanted; that's the demon-slaying blade in Hyakkimaru's left arm. But it is one of his swords, and it is a way of keeping part of himself close to her, so she clings to it and refuses to let go, even when Ryouma reaches out to get her to lower the weapon and focus on Daigo again.

She doesn't let the sword go, but she does place it upright with the point toward the floor, not threatening anyone. "This sword is mine," she says, feeling a need to claim it even though no one else here likely would.

That settled, she turns to Ryouma. "What can I do to help?" she asks.

"Boil more bandages," he says. "And cook us dinner. I'm starving."

"I'm cooking dinner," Biwamaru says when her mouth opens in an O of shock. She is _never_ making Ryouma food. Ever. She'll put her foot down. 

"There's enough for you, too, doctor," Biwamaru says kindly, and the man smiles and shakes his head.

"I'm not a doctor," he says, "but I'll accept your meal. And I'll try to save this man as best I can." He sees the barrel that Dororo had brought in (and forgotten about), and requests that she bring it over to him.

It means dropping the sword, but only for a minute, so she obeys, rolling the rain barrel near the fire.

"You sound like a doctor to me," Dororo says with a bright smile. He reminds her of someone, and not just the obvious someone. "What's your name?"

The man does not pause from his fixed massaging of water down Daigo's throat, but he answers, "Kaname."


	5. Third Path: Right Speech (Samma vaca): Hyakkimaru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which thoughts and words solve problems (instead of swords).

Hyakkimaru's nightmares start to change.

Hyakkimaru has had nightmares since he was a small child--practically for as far back as he can remember. In the beginning they had been nightmares formed of void; even his demonic sight had not developed fully before he could walk. But he hadn't needed to see anything to be afraid.

As he'd grown older, seen more, killed more, the nightmares had become replays of his days: close-ups on moments when he had nearly died. On some level he understands that this is his mind's way of keeping his vulnerabilities fresh so that he doesn't fall victim to his own mistakes, but as a child it had felt like being attacked in his own mind.

Jukai had always tried to soothe him. He had provided the explanation that Hyakkimaru now uses to filter the content of his nightmares: extra practice. Training for real fights. Emphasizing personal weaknesses and how to compensate for them. Jukai had never expected him to be perfect, or even whole, but he had always expected him to be strong.

But Hyakkimaru has committed several massacres now and has two helpless children traveling with him, and so his nightmares change.

He dreams that Akiko is abducted when he's knocked out, put over a spit and eaten by men with wolf faces. He dreams that Tarou is running back from the river with fish in his hands and is shot down by half a dozen arrows from behind. Sometimes, more rarely, he dreams that he's tied up and swordless as slavers brand the children and sell them into slavery in front of him.

Clearly, the children are a vulnerability, but he is unsure what to do about this. He reflects, at times, that Dororo had not changed his nightmares. When he probes the idea, he decides that Dororo had never truly been helpless. Reckless, to be sure, but not incapable of self-defense. And that's where these new children are lacking.

If he wants his nightmares to change back to his old, customary, personal hell, he is going to have to make the children--and his own position--stronger.

He doesn't relish the thought.

***

The surviving samurai from the gate sleeps for several days, and to Hyakkimaru it looks like he has a severe head injury. He needs to recover in place as well, so he has the children stand guard over the man as he sleeps, ensuring he won't wake up and slaughter them all.

He wants to kill the man and leave. He wants to kill the other man he'd tied up before, too. But he also doesn't want to kill anyone; he's killed enough for several lifetimes and he's tired of it.

Killing eighteen people in a night--even eighteen terrible people--has forced him to evaluate his behavior as well as his priorities.

Taking the bullet out is an excruciating task that leaves his shoulder a mangled mess. He needs both children to hold a firepoker (lifted from the soldiers) still enough to get it in the wound properly, then both hands to actually scoop and pull the cooled metal from his flesh.

It bleeds a lot. He's used to bleeding and even he is surprised at how deep the damage goes. While he wraps bandages one-handed and tightens them to the flesh, he realizes his arm is going to be out of commission for a while.

He can fight one-handed, but it galls him. During the long days when he fishes one-handed, builds fires one-handed, hunts one-handed, his eyes drift toward the soldier's gun. Though limited to one shot, guns are undoubtedly powerful. If the man ever wakes up, he might be able to teach Hyakkimaru how to use one.

Assuming they can trust him that far. Assuming any trust can be built between him and a mercenary-for-hire. 

Dororo had wanted to steal his sword, at first. People can be surprising.

It takes him three days to be able to move his arm normally again. He still can't lift it over his head or flex it backwards; he imagines that functionality will take longer. The comatose man has pissed himself several times over; Hyakkimaru forces water down his throat each morning so that he doesn't die, but can't be bothered with much else. Something in him feels pity for something so helpless, so he asks the children to help him lift the man to the riverside for a wash.

Being dumped in the freezing water jerks the man out of his coma almost instantly. He surveys the children and Hyakkimaru with distrustful eyes, but cleans himself up without much difficulty. "Where's my gun?" he asks.

"I have it," Hyakkimaru says. He has also stored the bullets an odd powder like the stuff Shiranui had used to blow up the mountain on the island where he'd rescued Dororo in his pack. He has the other man's gun as well, the one he'd disarmed and tied up, but he hadn't lifted any of the equipment for it.

"What do you plan to do with me?"

Hyakkimaru shrugs. "I need information. You need food and water. Care to trade?"

The man snorts, rubs his arms to keep the feeling in them while his filthy clothes rinse out, and nods. "Fine. Trade."

Hyakkimaru watches him get out of the river and is careful to keep both children behind him, but close. This man and his cohort hadn't killed the children outright before, but he has no idea what this man is capable of now that he's cornered, and he'd rather not put either child at risk.

He remembers how Jukai used to do this when a new patient with a strange aura would visit, but he doesn't linger on those memories. The idea of needing protection is too painful, too on-the-nose.

They return to their makeshift camp, all four of them, and spread out around a fire that's half-died in the high wind. Hyakkimaru builds it up, and the man shivers.

"You said you had food."

Hyakkimaru nods absently. "Tarou, get me the fish from this morning."

Tarou obeys somewhat slowly. Hyakkimaru can feel eyes on him, but looks only at the fire as it grows. He tosses the man one of his blankets and says, "Dinner's on. What's your name?"

The man snorts. "Iwasa. Yours?"

"Hyakkimaru."

"That a family name?"

"No. I don't have one of those."

Iwasa hms and his eyes track sticks with fish spitted on them that Tarou holds out to Hyakkimaru. Hyakkimaru holds out one to Iwasa and says, "Here."

"Thanks."

The fish will take a while to cook, and the silence is not companionable. Iwasa asks, "Why am I still alive?"

"You didn't kill the children. Given your position at the gate, you probably didn't set the fire. As best I can tell, you were following bad orders." A pause. "I'm not sure if you deserve to die or not."

"And the others?"

"One gave himself up. I have his gun, but spared his life."

"...and the others?"

Hyakkimaru shrugs.

Iwasa whistles. "Well, ain't you tougher than you look. What do you want from me, boy? I assume there's somethin' you want."

His eyes focus, sharp, on Iwasa's face. "Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?"

Iwasa's own eyes widen. "You want to be more dangerous than you already are?"

"No," Hyakkimaru says. "I'm not on my own anymore. I have people to protect. A gun may help me do that."

Maybe. Maybe not. Weapons also draw attention, but Hyakkimaru is used to taking every advantage he can get.

The fish is ready to eat, so Iwasa takes a bite that's too big and too hot but he obviously doesn't care: he's starving. "And if I refuse?" he asks, mouth open around his food.

"I'll kill you, take both guns and move on."

Iwasa freezes. The children look at Hyakkimaru with an expression of shock. Slowly, Iwasa swallows and says, "I'm sure you're capable of that. But how do I know you'll let me live after I teach you?"

"You don't," Hyakkimaru says. "But your options are traveling with me and helping when I ask, or staying here alone and fending for yourself. Another war's on soon. Your squad is dead." Hyakkimaru takes a casual bite of his fish. He's not hungry. "And I won't kill you without warning. I can promise you that much."

Iwasa eats another fish, and another; Hyakkimaru doesn't cut him off from more. The whole time he stares at Hyakkimaru, obviously still a kid himself, but with the horror-struck bloodshot eyes of an adult. Iwasa doesn't know what he wants to do, but he definitely doesn't want to be alone out here.

And if he finds survivors of his squad, he can always jump back to that side. Meanwhile, there's some things he might learn from this kid. Anyone that can kill twenty, twenty-five guys in one go has some serious martial arts experience, gun knowledge or not.

Iwasu finishes his fish and says, "Guess I'm coming with you."

Hyakkimaru nods thoughtfully and still doesn't look at him. "One condition."

"Besides the gun thing?"

"Yes. If you touch the children--either one--I rescind my earlier promise. Touch either of them and I will absolutely kill you without warning."

Iwasa nods. "Understood."

"Good. Get some sleep."

"Me?"

"Everyone. I'm on watch tonight."

***

On the morning of the fourth day since awakening from his comatose state, Iwasa pronounces himself fit to travel, and Hyakkimaru decides to break camp. He'd like some distance between himself and another temple he'd failed to save.

Before leaving the area for Asakura territory, he returns to the tree where he'd tied up the man who'd surrendered, and finds the bonds cut in a line. He frowns. Either the man had used a knife, or there are more survivors out here.

He, Iwasa, Tarou and Akiko encounter more roving bands of samurai on the road. Iwasa hides his weapons under a heavy cloak, his gun under fallen leaves, and Hyakkimaru also hides his swords and gun each time. And so the samurai see only three starving children and their guardian and pass them by.

The bands' continued presence makes Hyakkimaru nervous. He keeps the children back from the road at least a few dozen yards, so that they can't be easily seen. Iwasa resists this at first because the rocky slope is harder going than the road, but he seems to see the wisdom in it. At least, he doesn't complain much.

Moving through brush is definitely tougher than traveling by road. Hyakkimaru tells himself he's not being paranoid and that this is all part of his plan to make the kids tougher, but he is at least partially lying to himself.

Tarou is the only one that complains--loudly--about not being able to go on the road. Akiko, stunned by her experiences at the temple no doubt, hardly speaks at all except when she's hungry. He wants to talk to her, reach her somehow, but he's only had one conversation partner in his entire life, he's just met these kids and it's awkward. He has no idea how to talk to them because he doesn't know what they need.

Iwasa is also still an unknown variable, and he doesn't want to inadvertently reveal any of the children's vulnerabilities if he can help it. But Tarou starts getting on his nerves and could use some common sense, so Hyakkimaru considers how to make him stop complaining while teaching him why he shouldn't.

By making his needs--or at least, his requests--clear, Tarou gives Hyakkimaru an opening. Paranoid and awkward or not, Hyakkimaru seizes on it like he's been waiting for the excuse. He says, "Do you know why I hide my weapons when the samurai come by?"

"No," Tarou grumbles, sulks, thrusts out his lower lip and looks to be near tears. His shoes are practically worn through and Hyakkimaru can tell that his feet are bleeding. He remembers being that young, that soft. This will pass, for Tarou.

Akiko has been barefoot from the beginning, just like Hyakkimaru. She's also handling this whole situation better overall. Hyakkimaru wishes Tarou would take a lesson from her. But since he's not...

"If I didn't," he says, adding a slight upward lilt to his tone that makes Akiko pay attention to him, too, "they might want to fight me."

"You could fight them," Akiko says with conviction. She has seen some of what he can do.

Iwasa snorts but says nothing.

"I could," he acknowledges, "if there weren't too many. But what if they decided to kidnap you--take you hostage? Sell you? Run away with you before I could catch them?" He shares his nightmares, not because he wants to, but because they're likely. He's warning the children about their vulnerabilities, the same way his dreams and Jukai had warned him.

Tarou stares, stunned with his mouth open, and Akiko nods uncertainly. "You protect us by pretending you can't fight. That's clever."

"It's cowardice," Tarou insists. "If you can fight them, you should."

Hyakkimaru sighs inwardly. Slaughtering every corrupt samurai is not as easy as killing twelve demons. He's facing down a world that has a monster with endless heads. Tarou will realize this one day, if he manages to live that long.

"Sometimes I do," he says. "In a few years--when I can't pass as a child anymore--I'm sure I'll be challenged all the time. But youth protects us, at least a little." Against all but the worst possible people, at least. Orphans are dime-a-dozen in this war-torn world.

That doesn't mean the orphans aren't worth saving.

"Youth and poverty," Iwasa adds. "It looks like we've been picked clean already. No samurai or lord should look twice at us, and they haven't."

Not yet.


	6. Third Path: Right speech (Samma vaca): Dororo Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Saving Kagemitsu Daigo will not save the world," Kaname says with conviction. "You need allies. Do you have any?"
> 
> "A few hundred people in Enuma will support me." The people in the lower village already know the broad outlines of her plan.
> 
> Kaname's face shifts from something bitter and hopeless to an expression that is a bit more considered. He hms and says, "Any fighters?"
> 
> Hyakkimaru's face hovers in her mind. Behind it, there's her father's, and Itachi's, but she can't rely on any of them now.
> 
> "The priest can fight," she says. "And some of the villagers can use simple weapons. But no, I don't know that many fighters."
> 
> The corners of Kaname's eyes pinch together at the corners as if he's holding back tears. "Then you'll lose."
> 
> Maybe he's right. But that hasn't happened yet. Nothing will change at all unless Daigo wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daigo is a terrible invalid.

Daigo doesn't wake up for almost a week.

During that time, Dororo helps Ryouma gather materials to patch the hole in the roof and gather supplies from the nearest town. Both Kaname and Biwamaru are emphatic that he absolutely should not be moved.

Dororo considers going back to town and helping with the rebuilding effort. She considers going back to her treasure cave to retrieve some capital. She actively considers smacking Ryouma in the head whenever he suggests she do do something traditionally feminine, like cook a meal or change Daigo's bandages or do laundry.

She misses Hyakki. Work is work, no matter who does it, and she's used to sharing chores. Between the doctor's tending of Daigo and Biwamaru's cooking, Dororo devotes herself to the tasks of cleaning and rebuilding, and lets Ryouma pester her because he refuses to work alongside her. His words drift through her mind at odd intervals, punctuating her work:

"What if you got hurt?"

"You're not strong enough to lift that."

"I don't think that will hold if you try to fix it."

His lack of faith in her abilities makes her boiling mad. Hyakki had never treated her this way. Biwamaru hadn't, either. Hell, even Kaname treats her better than the hidebound Ryouma. 

If Daigo wakes up and treats her with the same inconsideration, she may have to find a new partner to share her dreams with.

Fortunately, Daigo does awaken after several days, but isn't well enough to sit up or speak for several more. When it seems like he's strong enough that he won't immediately die from exposure or shock, Kaname asks Dororo for her help in bathing him.

She wrinkles her nose, but draws enough water to fill their rain barrel and sets Ryouma the task of boiling the water. When Ryouma complains that this is indecent work for someone like her, she ignores him. And he does boil the water for her, so at least that's one less thing to worry about.

Daigo's skin sloughs off in places as she washes it with warm water, especially places with a lot of dried blood. Kaname parts hakama and kimono folds carefully, trying not to disturb the scabs he reveals. He's good at this; he must have had lots of practice. "So, did you...live with the doctor? Who lived in that house?"

She's asked him this a few times before, but he hasn't been very forthcoming about himself. He sighs, dabs a wet cloth around Daigo's forehead wound carefully, and says, "Why do you want to know?"

"My friend--I think he lived with the doctor. I thought maybe the doctor had a son or something."

Kaname shakes his head. "No, I'm nothing like that. I'm not even a doctor."

He does a good impression of one. "Then what are you?"

"I was a patient," he says, discarding the soiled cloth, now black in places, and picking up another clean one. "A little boy on a battlefield, told he'd never walk again. My parents were captured, tortured, and crucified."

Dororo gulps, recalling her own parents with a sickening feeling growing in her gut.

"Now," Kaname says, "don't you wish you hadn't asked?"

"No," she says softly, lifting up the cloth covering Daigo's right leg and revealing several criss-crossing cuts and a dark purple bruise thick and dark with blood. "I don't have parents, either."

"I'm sorry," Kaname says, and his voice is a little softer now. "I didn't know." His voice hardens. "The doctor--the man that gave me my leg--killed my parents."

Oh. Dororo's eyes widen, and she temporarily forgets about Daigo to focus on what that means. "A doctor killed people? No way!" Not the doctor that had given Hyakkimaru limbs; the mere thought seems impossible.

"That's what I thought, too," Kaname says, shifting his attention to Daigo's filthy hands, "but he admitted it. He told me what he'd done under lord Shiba's orders." A pause that stretches; Dororo breathes in, and Ryouma's stillness behind her indicates that he's listening too. Biwamaru sits on the other side of the fire, quiet as he always is, but his forehead creases in a deep frown.

"Lord Shiba is dead," Kaname says bitterly. "The doctor is dead. Kagemitsu Daigo is dead. There's no place else to lay the blame."

So Daigo had been responsible--at least by proxy--for the deaths of Kaname's parents. Dororo understands this at the same time Biwamaru does, and they look significantly at one another as if daring each other to tell Kaname first.

"I, um..." Dororo has never backed down from the tough stuff. She doesn't intend to do that now. "I don't like Daigo, either," she says, because that's fully honest and she feels she owes Kaname an explanation for keeping his enemy alive even this long. "He did something unforgivable to my best friend. My friend's still alive, but..." 

She trails off, and Kaname lifts another clean bandage, shifts forward to use it, and prompts, "So? What's your point?"

"This guy," she says, indicating Daigo with both arms, "is Kagemitsu Daigo."

Kaname grins briefly as if he thinks he's being joked with. Dororo wants to convince him but she doesn't know how. Biwamaru looks from her to Kaname and says, "I'm afraid Dororo is telling the truth."

Kaname's smile collapses as suddenly as it came on. He pauses in his cleaning of Daigo's hands and arms, looking perturbed. "If you hate him," he says, addressing his words to Dororo, "why do you want him alive?"

"It's a necessary evil," she says. "If he dies, then Kaga province has a power vacuum that will probably be filled by someone worse."

Kaname nods in understanding. "I see. What about his heir? I believe he has one."

How right he is--but Hyakkimaru would never consent to be Daigo's heir. "Dead," Dororo says, remembering Tahoumaru. "Killed in a fire that destroyed Daigo's palace."

"Hm," Kaname says thoughtfully. "That sounds like quite a story. Forgive me if I don't entirely believe you. I believe that you want to save Kagemitsu Daigo for some reason. I've helped you this far, and I don't intend to go back on my word. I'll still help you save him.

"If," Kaname adds ominously, "you tell me what you plan to do with him if he lives."

"What do you mean?"

"This man is extraordinarily weak. It will take him weeks to recover at best, possibly months. Even if all you want to do is set him up as a puppet king and pull his strings, it will still take that long. What do you intend to do in the meantime?"

"What do you mean? What should I do?"

Kaname sighs deeply, then removes a heavy solid ring from Daigo's hand. When he hands it to her, she sees the anchor-like symbol of the Kagemitsu family carved into it, and realizes this is a seal. "Call his retainers, at least," Kaname says. "Put the defenses of this land back together. Without some kind of leader, Kaga is a sitting duck for the Asakura."

Dororo almost slaps herself because she should have thought of that herself. But she doesn't even know how to read and write beyond her own name, so how could she?

"I'll take care of that," Biwamaru says, sliding the seal deftly from Dororo's hand into his own. "I can write better than you can, and I know the words to use." He stands up. "I will return to Enuma and write letters to those retainers I'm aware of. How long should I give them to gather, do you think?"

"I would think not longer than two weeks."

Biwamaru nods. "We agree. I'm off." Biwamaru leaves some of his bandages, but packs up both his bag and his lute sword and vanishes into the foggy dim light of early evening outside the Hall of Hell.

"It may not be fast enough," Kaname mutters, and Dororo doesn't know if he's talking to her or to himself. He sets down the soiled washcloth in his hand and sighs. "I've been running from war my whole life. I'm crippled, so I could never be a soldier. I lack strength and training, so I could never be a doctor. And now you're telling me that another war is on the way, even if you don't completely understand the reasons for it."

She nods because he's right, but she doesn't know how he wants her to respond.

"Saving Kagemitsu Daigo will not save the world," Kaname says with conviction. "You need allies. Do you have any? Any besides that old man and the useless boy cowering behind you?"

Dororo had almost completely forgotten about Ryouma. "He's not useless," she defends automatically; like him or not, she doesn't consider anyone completely useless. "A few hundred people in Enuma will support me." The people in the lower village already know the broad outlines of her plan.

Kaname's face shifts from something bitter and hopeless to an expression that is a bit more considered. He hms and says, "Any fighters?"

Hyakkimaru's face hovers in her mind. Behind it, there's her father's, and Itachi's, but she can't rely on any of them now.

"The priest can fight," she says. "And some of the villagers can use simple weapons. But no, I don't know that many fighters."

The corners of Kaname's eyes pinch together at the corners as if he's holding back tears. "Then you'll lose."

Maybe he's right. But that hasn't happened yet. Dororo gets up and asks Ryouma to help her get more wood for the fire. Nothing will change at all unless Daigo wakes up.

***

Daigo wakes up three nights later--in the middle of the night, when everyone else is already asleep. Dororo hears a terrible wracking cough and mutters something like "shut up," but sits up straight when she recognizes the voice.

"Kagemitsu Daigo," she whispers, omitting any honorific because she's not about to pretend to respect him and she's mad about being woken up. Long days of caring for him have taught her to reach for water first, though, and when the water skin comes in view Daigo seizes it from her in both hands and drinks the entire thing in one gulp.

Well, someone's gonna have to piss soon. She hopes he can walk because she's certainly not going to clean him up.

"Thank you," he mutters automatically when he stops drinking.

"That's a start," she says, a bit of her more wakeful snark sneaking into her tone. "Yo, Kagemitsu-dono. Remember me?"

Daigo narrows his eyes. They're still slightly yellow, though not as bad as they'd been when she'd found him. Kaname had called this disease "jaundice," and the carious yellow stare Dororo gets reminds her of being stared down by one of Hyakkimaru's demons.

"No. Should I?"

"I traveled with your son."

"Tahoumaru? Is he--"

"--you other son," she cuts him off.

"...oh." Daigo looks away from her, head lolling so that he's staring at the ceiling. "You're that one. I remember you, vaguely.

"What do you want? Where is my son?"

"What I want is...complicated," she says. Then she remembers that, while awake, Daigo is still probably on the brink of death, and she asks, "Is there anything you need right now?"

"More water."

"Gotcha." She picks up the waterskin and hoofs it on over to the water barrel, still three-quarters full from her last run to get water from the river. She fills the skin up, dunking it in so that her arms get soaking wet, and returns to Daigo lying near the fire.

Ryouma is there ahead of her; apparently the noise had awakened him, and he's placing a wet cloth over Daigo's fever-red forehead when she returns with the water.

Daigo sits up a little and sips this water more slowly than the last skin, letting Dororo hold the skin in place. He takes a deep breath. 

"Better?" Dororo asks. 

"Somewhat," Daigo snaps irritably. "My bandages itch. Why did you bandage me?"

"Uh, that wasn't just me," she says, indicating Ryouma and the still form of Kaname. Kaname doesn't snore ordinarily, so she has no idea if he's still asleep or is just pretending to be so that he doesn't have to deal with Daigo being crabby.

"My question remains. Why." It's more statement than question, and the firm tone of his voice gives Dororo great hopes for his recovery.

"Mhm. Well, if we hadn't, you were so dehydrated you might have bled to death."

"That's what I desired." Daigo closes his eyes. "But you decided otherwise. I'll ask one more time: what do you want, child?"

"I want to rebuild your palace," she says, because she needs a base, and some part of her wants to rebuild the place where Hyakki was born, and reborn. It seems appropriate somehow. It's also a concrete goal, and one she has the resources to complete. "I want to repair the roads that lead between there and here. I want to make this land prosperous again." She thinks for a moment. "Oh, and I want to open trade negotiations with the surrounding lords."

Daigo snorts and shuts his eyes again. "Why not ask for the moon."

"Don't tempt me." 

Her tone is entirely serious, and Daigo's eyes snap open, looking between her and Ryouma with an expression of bewilderment. "You can't possibly agree with this--plan. It's insane."

"It's not detailed," she says, "but I've thought it out and have some ideas where to start."

Ryouma says, "The village is already mostly built up. We could probably raise the old fort in a few weeks if everyone helped. I don't know about the rest of it. Dororo's smarter than me."

Well, that's a low bar, but Ryouma is being helpful and Dororo accepts his help in the spirit that it's given in.

"You would need an army," Daigo says, "and capital to back it up and supply it."

She shakes her head. "I don't want to take the region by force."

"Then how will you..." Oh. Oh, now he understands: why she is talking to him, of all people. In the same instant, he gets the gist of what she wants or expects him to do, and sighs. "Why didn't you ask my son for help?"

"I wanted to but..." She looks at the floor, so Daigo turns to Ryouma for an explanation.

"Hyakkimaru is on a quest to discover who he is. I don't know any more than that."

Neither does Dororo; she hadn't been given a better explanation. But she knows in her gut that it wouldn't be right to have Hyakkimaru rebuild something he had no hand in breaking. His life's unfair enough without that burden.

"All right," Daigo says. His face throbs where the bandage has been pulled too tight, and his fists clench as if he's fighting the urge to yank it off. "Say I do as you ask. What's in it for me?"

Dororo raises both eyebrows. "You mean aside from your life?"

"Don't think you saved me," he says contemptuously. "I was perfectly ready to die, and would have done so willingly. My wife and child are dead, my palace destroyed. You're asking me to start over, and I'm asking you: why?"

Dororo gulps, and Kaname finally sits up, soundlessly, and pivots on his hips to face Daigo on the other side of the fire. "There's no one else but you," Kaname says. "Every man, woman and child in Kaga knows the name of Kagemitsu Daigo. News of your fall spread through the towns like wildfire. If you come back from the dead now, you won't just be a household name. You'll be a legend."

Daigo smiles faintly, but the smile doesn't reach his cold eyes. "Appealing to an old man's vanity will get you nowhere, youngster."

"I'm not as young as I look," Kaname insists, and Dororo thinks that's probably true. "I've seen as many wars as you, in the last twenty years. Aren't you tired of them?"

"Yes. It's part of why I want to die."

"Don't you want to go home?"

"Home isn't home anymore."

Dororo grips her head in both hands and realizes she will have to play her trump card, much much earlier than she wants. "I'll--pay for it."

"You? Pay? For what?" Daigo's tone drips with venom, and while she had anticipated that he wouldn't believe her, she hadn't thought he'd actually spit at her.

On the bright side, he's producing spit, so he's probably a lot less dehydrated now.

"I have money," she says, "a lot of it. I don't know how much, but it should be more than enough to rebuild the palace and the roads. And if I invest in trade, I should make some back. Then I can pay for the army, if we need one for protection or whatever."

Daigo rolls his eyes. "You clearly know nothing about money."

"I'm learning, okay?" she practically yells. "Fuck, I'm ten, I'm an orphan, I'm _alone,_ and I'm giving all I have to make the world better. I hate you, but I can't do more without you."

Daigo's eyebrow quirks upward. "You hate me?"

"You tried to kill Hyakki. A lot of times. And you killed a lot of good people for no reason, and made a deal with demons."

Daigo sighs. "It's the nature of the world." He pauses. "If you provide me financial backing, I may have to do at least some of those things again. Are you certain that's what you want?"

Dororo is not naive enough to think that building her new world won't create casualties. She knows that all change brings disturbance. She's been hoping to lubricate the way for everyone with money, but things may not be that simple.

When she doesn't answer for a while, Daigo hms and turns over, away from the fire, and closes his eyes. "Sleeping now. We'll talk more in the morning."

And then he is out like a light. Dororo shakes his shoulder as an experiment, but he doesn't budge at all.

"Let him sleep," Kaname whispers, and Dororo steps back from him as instructed with a little huff.

"Insufferable bastard."

"He's probably always been like that," Kaname says softly.

"Yeah," she trails off, staring at the floor. "Kaname-san, Ryouma. Thanks for backing me up. I--didn't think anyone believed in me." Except Biwamaru. Probably Hyakkimaru. Maybe.

Ryouma claps her on the shoulder. Kaname says, "Nothing changes if nothing changes," in the tone of an old proverb, and she shrugs Ryouma's hand off and goes to sit next to Kaname so she can stare at Daigo easier.

"Not all change is good," she says as she sits down.

"No," Kaname says, rummaging for something in his supplies. He seems to have trouble looking at people. "But I think yours just might be."

***

Dororo falls asleep almost in the fire, and the first thing she smells upon waking is the sickly-sweet smell of piss.

She really, truly, from the bottom of her soul, _hates_ Kagemitsu Daigo.


	7. Fourth Path: Right action (Samma Kammanta): Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyakkimaru sits cross-legged, and Iwasa tosses him his gun.
> 
> He hasn't had much opportunity to look at it closely, but now that he does he realizes it is old. There is wood molded to the front tube where Iwasa's has metal, and fine scratches line a clamp at the end of a small curved lever at the back of the gun, closest to him.
> 
> "Your model is older than mine," Iwasa says, "but they work the same. That clamp you're looking at is the matchbowl. Track the line of it to the front of the gun--pulling the lever up here," Iwasa says, touching a protruding triangle at the top of the gun, "ignites the gunpowder and makes it fire. Reloading is a pain, but that's mainly because you have to take the match out."
> 
> "What's a match?"
> 
> Iwasa sighs, exasperated, but shows Hyakkimaru his long lines of matchstick and cuts one in half to give him. "You're paying me back for this."
> 
> "I don't have any money."
> 
> "Well, I'll get it out of you somehow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got incredibly complicated. Between new character dynamics and Daigo's (and Dororo's) shadow hand in things, I wound up with a chapter that refused to be simplified or rushed, so expect more of this chapter to be posted this week...though the place where it ends now is satisfactory enough, I think.
> 
> Edit: New ending stuff added. Mwahaha.

They're on the road for about a week when Iwasa broaches the subject of learning to shoot.

Hyakkimaru has been thinking about the best time to ask, but there really hasn't been one. Akiko and Tarou have needed to toughen up their feet, learn to forage and fish and skin before the full onset of winter, and he hasn't had time to pause in those preparations.

He's massaging oil into the hide of an old buck he brought down five days ago. The children had smoked the meat while he'd harvested the rest of the carcass; he wants to make water-resistant blankets to carry for winter while the weather holds.

Iwasa sits next to him and yawns. "So. Are you ever going to learn to use that gun you're carrying around?" 

The invitation surprises him. He looks up at Iwasa and says, "What, now?"

"I was thinking in a day or so. We're close enough to one of the villages that they might hear us practicing and panic. If we move away from them for a bit, it should be safe."

"All right," Hyakkimaru says. "Teach me in a few days."

Akiko comes over to him with an armload of wood. There are scratches all over her arms where nettles and brush attacked her skin, but her eyes are fierce and alive. "I want to learn, too," she says. "Teach me how to shoot."

Hyakkimaru looks to Iwasa. "Is that possible?"

"Afraid not. She'd ruin her shoulder."

Hyakkimaru nods. "All right. Akiko, I'll teach you self-defense instead."

"Really?" Her eyes are as huge and round as coins.

"Yes. Tarou too, if he's up for it." Tarou is out to get water, but he's been gone a while. Hyakkimaru finishes oiling one section of his hide and decides to go looking for the boy. Akiko offers to come with him, but he tells her to stay put with Iwasa, and to scream and run like hell if there's anything wrong.

Akiko's crisp nod as he parts the underbrush on the path to the river makes him think she'd be an excellent soldier. He only prays he's an adequate teacher--he's never really taught anyone anything before.

***

Tarou needs to be carried back from the river. His feet are mottled purple and the left sole has gone green with infection. Hyakkimaru puts some water on to boil and removes it from the fire when it's bubbling. He waits a few minutes for the water to chill slightly in the evening air, then shoves Tarou's infected foot in it hastily, wincing a little as Tarou screams.

"Good thinking," Iwasa says, providing calm commentary. "But do you think you can save his feet, at this rate?"

"Yes." Hyakkimaru has gained and lost more feet than anyone else here. Not like that's a competition, but he has a lifetime of doctors' knowledge from Jukai in addition to his personal understanding of limb loss: he can handle this.

However, he takes Iwasa's point. Tarou's feet can't handle being bare, at least not until the sloughed skin crusts and flakes off. Hyakkimaru's eyes drift from the rotten foot to the leather he's been curing, and he gets an idea.

He claps Tarou on the shoulder, lightly, and says, "You handled that well. I'm proud of you." It's only half-true, but he knows he could use some reassurance if he were in Tarou's place.

"Yeah, thanks. Not like that does me any good." He's sulking, obviously. Akiko sticks her tongue out at him on the other side of the fire, and it occurs to Hyakkimaru that they are playing favorites for his attention. How strange. 

"No, but shoes might," Hyakkimaru says, going to retrieve the uncured leather and spare cloth in his pack to line the inside. He can't make complex shoes, but sandals should be achievable with a little trial and error; his knife is sharp enough to serrate the leather and he has sewing tools. Straw would be better material to work with for a project like this, but he has none. The sandals he makes won't be pretty, but they should be functional enough.

Materials acquired, Hyakkimaru takes the measure of Tarou's feet from his better foot and starts cutting one approximately sized sole. Akiko asks, "Will I get shoes, too?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You're like me. You don't need them."

"Oh." 

She sounds a little disappointed, so he adds, "Tarou's feet should toughen up a lot after this gets better. Soon, he won't need them either. This is more like bandages for feet.

"And he won't be able to join us for self-defense training until his feet are better, so you may be able to get a head start."

That seems to mollify her somewhat. She goes to the river for more water and roasts fish while Hyakkimaru makes sandals and bandages Tarou's feet. Iwasa takes a skewered fish from the fire and eats, and the expression on his face is hard to read.

"He can't walk on that," Iwasa says while handing another cooling fish skewer to Akiko.

"I know," Hyakkimaru says quietly. He's carried children before.

***

Hyakkimaru jerks awake suddenly at the feeling of metal at his throat. He thinks it's a knife, so he uses his chin to pull it around to the other side of his neck and hold it still, preventing the wielder from stabbing in.

They can still slice from this angle, but the thing he has wedged between his neck and shoulder is not a knife.

It's Iwasa's gun. Iwasa is attacking him.

Target acquired, Hyakkimaru pulls his shoulders in close, too close; the gun can't be effective when there's no space between them. He's about to knock Iwasa out with a double-fisted blow to the base of his skull when he gets a different idea.

He spins, gaining a little distance, but only for a moment; he seizes the gun by the barrel and the center at the same time, and the twist causes Iwasa's hands to turn over as he grapples for the gun. When Hyakkimaru makes a full rotation Iwasa's wrists turn over completely, and Hyakkimaru hears a sickening crack as the gun drops easily from Iwasa's hands into his. Hyakkimaru holds it like a bo staff, ready to fight if that's what Iwasa wants.

Iwasa looks at his empty hands with a pained and open-mouthed expression. "You could have killed me," Iwasa gasps. It's not a question.

"Rules of the game," Hyakkimaru says. "I said I'd kill you without warning if you touched the children. I'm not the children." He tightens his grip on Iwasa's gun for a moment. He finds his pained grimaces fascinating. Hands are new to him; he've never realized they have this kind of power. 

"Why did you attack me, anyway?" Hyakkimaru asks.

"I thought you were weak. You're coddling the kids--I thought you'd gone soft."

Hyakkimaru sighs. "If Tarou doesn't stay off his feet for a few days, he may lose them. That's not soft. It's just facts."

"So, what, you're a doctor now too?"

"My father was." There's no sense in pretending Daigo is his father when Jukai is the only parent he ever had. 

"Thought you had no family."

"I have no family name." This is true, as far as it goes; he's never known Jukai's last name, and only knows his first name because the priest had told him. He doesn't own the Daigo name and never will if he can help it.

"Who are you?"

He shrugs. "What are you asking? You know my name."

Iwasa sniffs disdainfully. "Sure, if it's your real one."

***

Iwasa doesn't attack him again for several days, but he doesn't talk much, either. Hyakkimaru decides to camp in place near a river with lots of trees scraggling upward in the rock of a ravine: it's sheltered from the wind, and the cocooning rock should serve to misdirect or muffle the sound of his and Iwasa's guns.

He's been carrying Tarou for most of the past three days, and his shoulders are sore, but he remembers Iwasa's suggestion, and asks him for a lesson when they've made camp. Akiko puts on water for stew, as that takes several hours to cook, and gets to work replacing Tarou's bandages.

The shoes have worked out, somewhat. Thanks to them, Tarou is able to hobble around on his own whenever they stop and rest, but he's not capable of sustained travel that way; the soles of the shoes are too soft,and are cut too jaggedly to align flat to the earth like a better-made pair of sandals might. Hyakkimaru has always been the one to carry him; Iwasa has not even offered, and after being accused of weakness, Hyakkimaru doesn't want to ask for his help more than he has to.

Iwasa and Hyakkimaru walk further into the woods, a little ways away from the children. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" Iwasa asks as they walk.

"No. But I'll try."

"Have you ever shot a bow before?"

Hyakkimaru recalls the the archers he'd fled from at Daigo's palace. He recalls the hundreds of arrows and stones he'd used to echo-locate the cloud demon as targeting practice when he'd been blind. "I'm familiar with bows." As he says it, he realizes he's never shot a ranged weapon while sighted. He hopes that his eyes are at least as good as his demonic vision was, or he's in trouble.

"Good. That should help with targeting." Iwasa looks around him, sights two small trees surrounding a larger one, and sits seiza while motioning Hyakkimaru to do the same. Hyakkimaru sits cross-legged, and Iwasa tosses him his gun.

He hasn't had much opportunity to look at it closely, but now that he does he realizes it is old. There is wood molded to the front tube where Iwasa's has metal, and fine scratches line a clamp at the end of a small curved lever at the back of the gun, closest to him.

"Your model is older than mine," Iwasa says, "but they work the same. That clamp you're looking at is the matchbowl. Track the line of it to the front of the gun--pulling the lever up here," Iwasa says, touching a protruding triangle at the top of the gun, "ignites the gunpowder and makes it fire. Reloading is a pain, but that's mainly because you have to take the match out."

"What's a match?"

Iwasa sighs, exasperated, but shows Hyakkimaru his long lines of matchstick and cuts one in half to give him. "You're paying me back for this."

"I don't have any money."

"Well, I'll get it out of you somehow."

Using a gun is a very involved process. Bows are far more user-friendly, and if Hyakkimaru hadn't already felt the damage a gun could do firsthand, he might have given up from the fussiness of it all. But he has mastered the nine sword strikes and Jukai's form of martial arts training; surely, this can't be more complicated than that.

And it's not, though it takes Hyakkimaru over an hour to memorize the rhythm of it: put in shot and powder, put in the match, aim, pull back the lever to fire, clear the pan, remove the match, reload, do it again.

He asks a lot of questions that Iwasa seems to consider dumb: why the matchstick gets lit at both ends, why it needs to get taken out before reloading, why the order is the way it is. Once, he fails to put the matchstick in before pulling the lever of the gun and winds up jamming it so badly that Iwasa has to teach him how to clean the weapon, then and there, so that they can keep shooting.

After that mishap, it gets to the point where Hyakkimaru is averaging a shot every three minutes or so, with reasonably good accuracy. Reloading still feels painfully slow and Iwasa is two or three times faster than he is, but he considers that he's been able to learn a lot in a few hours, and suggests they return to camp. Iwasa puts out their matchsticks and starts packing up his supplies, as well as any stray melted shot that hadn't been absorbed by their target trees.

While they're walking back to camp, Hyakkimaru notices that that his ears are ringing. He sticks one finger in his ear unselfconsciously and asks, "Why do my ears hurt?"

Iwasa shrugs. "I forgot about that. You're not deaf like me, yet, but if you keep shooting, you'll get there. Most of us don't shoot more than a dozen bullets during a battle anyway; there isn't time between maneuvers..."

He keeps talking, but Hyakkimaru is barely listening. He hasn't had his hearing very long, and hearing is definitely not a favorite among his senses, but he's also not willing to cause himself deliberate damage. His right shoulder also tightens and pulls with every step they make back to camp, and Hyakkimaru considers that he may have overdone things a little.

Iwasa seems to realize he's stopped listening. He flicks him on the forehead and says, "Hello? Anyone in there?"

"Sorry," Hyakkimaru says. "I was thinking about how not to go deaf."

Iwasa considers this statement as if it were a question, and says, "We can practice a little less intensely, which will help. Some guys stuff their ears with silk or cotton. It may be worth a try, at least for you. I probably won't bother--it's too late for me."

***

After Iwasa is confident that Hyakkimaru understands a gun's basic mechanics, they refine targeting using bows. Hyakkimaru teaches both Akiko and Tarou how to shape a branch for stringing, and how to make arrowheads; Akiko sometimes takes off hunting for the day, and Tarou has taken over cooking meals because that job doesn't require him to go far from the fire.

Tarou's feet are recovering well. Being off them, more or less, for over a week has had positive effects; there's a large pus-filled sore that looks like the largest blister Hyakkimaru has ever seen, but from its color and the general lack of pain when weight is put on it, Hyakkimaru guesses that it isn't infected. When it pops, or recedes, Tarou's foot will probably be better off.

Akiko brings a rabbit and a raven she's brought down as meat to flesh out out their supper, and Hyakkimaru skins while Akiko and Tarou pluck and Iwasa chops raw meat and dried roots into the pot. It is Hyakkimaru's turn to take first watch. The children go to bed after dinner, but Iwasa stays up for a while, staring at him.

Hyakkimaru is entirely comfortable with silence. He knows that Iwasa has stayed awake to ask or tell him something, or possibly to attack him again, but he's not about to engage in conversation of his own accord. It's easier to keep watch when it's quiet and there are no distractions.

When Tarou starts snoring faintly, Iwasa says, very quietly: "I've asked, but you never told me who you are."

"I have. There's nothing more to tell."

"Bullshit." The answer is a whisper, but Iwasa sounds angry now. "You can kill twenty, twenty-five armed soldiers on your own. You can live off the land in the dead of winter. You can reverse gangrene. You're a natural sharpshooter. If there's fuckall you _can't_ do, then tell me because I can't think of a blasted thing."

Hyakkimaru's eyes widen. He has never had his competence called out in this way before, and it startles him; he is aware, acutely aware, of all the ways he has had to adapt to live around his missing pieces. Apparently wholeness makes him appear superhuman, to Iwasa.

He sighs. "I was abandoned as an infant. A doctor raised me. The doctor was a samurai, and his house was usually surrounded by monsters, so I learned how to fight." This is heavily edited, of course, but all true.

Iwasa watches his face intently, searching for a lie. "Why are you here, and not with the doctor?"

"He died."

"And you--fight monsters?"

Hyakkimaru shrugs. "I used to." The wind blows over his shoulders, so strong and cold it nearly snuffs the fire. Hyakkimaru smells smoke. 

"And now?"

Hyakkimaru leans into the fire. "I'm working that out as I go." He returns Iwasa's stare blankly. "Why do you care?"

Iwasa's eyes narrow, then widen as he points to the horizon: "What's that?"

The sun is almost fully set and it's near dark, but Hyakkimaru can see what he's pointing at: a thick column of smoke rising up to the sky. "Fire," Hyakkimaru says. "Close."

Iwasa nods. "We need to get out of here."

Smoke inhalation could be deadly. But the fire doesn't appear to have spread out yet; it looks like one large building, or perhaps two, are alight, which means that any remaining buildings, and the people in them, might still be saved.

Quickly, almost without thinking, he rouses Akiko and lifts Tarou. He verifies that he has all his weapons with him except his gun; he can't spare the time to set it up. Then he takes off toward the column of smoke at a run. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Iwasa screams behind him. But he doesn't stop. Tarou wakes up fully and grabs his shoulders so he doesn't fall off, and Akiko keeps up. He can't hear Iwasa. If he's coming, he's slow.

***

  
When Hyakkimaru reaches the source of the fire, there are fifty or so men standing in a ring around a burning building. He hopes it's the local fire brigade, but he's not holding his breath.

In the half-dark he and the children are not too visible; he lets Tarou down and tells him and Akiko to hide in the trees along the side of the road until he calls for them. He also instructs Akiko to breathe through their clean bandages as much as possible to cut down on how much smoke they inhale.

He notices that the burning building itself had been large--a store, a hospital, maybe even a temple--but it's burned past recognition now. Some people, badly burned, stagger out of the building as beams collapse to ashes and fall. No one helps them.

It's hard to tell in the darkness, but the men surrounding the fire are outfitted similarly to the men he'd cut down at the border: all armored, all armed, but relatively poorly. Still, there's no way he can take fifty of them at once. Given that the damage is done, fighting them would probably do no good, anyway.

His best course of action is probably to ask for information. He approaches cautiously, but makes no effort to muffle his footfalls: he doesn't want to be taken as a spy, but a curious passerby that wants to help--which is exactly what he is.

He raises his hand and shouts a generic greeting, then says, "I saw fire as I came up the road. Is everything all right?"

One man, a big wiry man that seems to be lacking teeth, spits at him and slurs, "Ain't none of your damn business, kid. Keep walkin'."

Hyakkimaru hears a keening wail: the high-pitched scream of a young woman or a child. He flips over the thin line of men instantly and into the burn zone, drawn to the sound, and discovers both a young woman and an infant that can barely walk. The infant is unburned and breathing, but this is because the woman had shielded it; one arm of her kimono and most of her back is on fire. Disregarding modesty for the moment, Hyakkimaru cuts the burning garment from her body, and her screams turn to gasps as the fire falls away. 

"Get on my back," Hyakkimaru says. "And stay behind me. It's not safe yet."

The men surrounding the building regard him with confusion. The ring is tighter now; clearly, they don't want him to escape.

The woman clambers onto his back, baby in one arm, her other hand digging into his shoulder--his injured one, unfortunately--for dear life. He manages to jump the ring of men directly into a tree, expecting to be shot at any time; some of the men in the crowd definitely have rifles.

He hears a shot as he jumps and braces for the impact of bullet on flesh, but it never comes. He lands in the tree and lets the woman off his back, then leaps down to see...Iwasa.

His gun is smoking, matchstick lit. He's surrounded and can't reload. Hyakkimaru lands in front of him, hoping to shield him as he reloads his gun, but Iwasa makes no move to do so.

"Friends of yours?" Hyakkimaru asks him casually, and Iwasa gives him a fierce grin as he holsters the gun and takes out his sword.

"Nope. Never seen 'em before in my life."

"What took you so long?" Hyakkimaru asks as six of the men approach them with their swords drawn.

Only six. Hyakkimaru had expected more, but they seem to be intent on maintaining the circle for some reason. God knows why, but it definitely works in their favor.

Hyakkimaru's kodachi cut through the first two men like paper. Iwasa makes a satisfied sort of grunt as the next set of men hesitates, and then says, "Not all of us have balls of steel."

Then he whistles, and the sound of several dozen arrows comes out of the trees, poking the men approaching Hyakkimaru full of holes; at least three arrows each. All four go down.

"Get back," Iwasa calls, and Hyakkimaru doesn't need to be told twice. A man rushes him as he's retreating and almost scores a lucky hit to the gut, but Hyakkimaru deflects it and follows Iwasa up a tree. Iwasa whistles again, and a rain of arrows falls down upon the ring of men below.

The arrows fall steadily, and by the third volley all but seven of the men are either dead or scattered. By the fourth, the ring is entirely broken, and Hyakkimaru heaves a harsh breath. "Where the hell did you find archers?" he asks in amazement.

"Oh, these guys? They were all pissy about their temple being burned, so I riled 'em up a little. It was easy, as you see. They already wanted to do it--they just wanted an excuse."

"We chased them off for now," Hyakkimaru says. "But they'll probably be back." For revenge, if nothing else. He touches the grazing cut across his gut, probing for depth. It isn't serious; he'd dodged in time, but he needs hot water and bandages if he's going to be functional enough tomorrow to plan a defense.

Hm. Defense. Peasants versus samurai. Is that even possible?

Iwasa flicks him on the forehead to get his attention, and says, "Hey, you hurt?"

"Not too bad. I'd like to get down, though."

Iwasa shrugs. "Sure." They climb down the tree, and find several dozen men and women carrying bows already there. Many of the men also have buckets of water, and get to work dousing the fire. 

He calls for Akiko and Tarou, and they come running. Akiko gushes about how cool Iwasa looked shooting down the gang leader, while Tarou seems fascinated with the peasants' longer, thicker hunting bows.

Hyakkimaru leaves the children with Iwasa and wanders over to a makeshift tent: just two lengths of cloth tied together and draped over a pole, the edges weighed down with rocks. There are two pots of boiling water just outside, and inside three women, two that seem to be younger than him, draw boiled bandages over the skin of burn survivors.

That isn't going to help.

He sets down his pack and rummages through it. He always has lavender leaves, and he thinks he has comfrey leaves as well. Either are fine for treating minor burns, but he needs a base to make a poultice.

He calls one of the women over and tells her to use cold water for the burns. Hot water should only be used on open wounds at risk of infection. The woman nods and starts bringing up cold buckets of water in pails over her shoulders. One little boy sticks both of his burned legs in a pail of cold water and sighs like he's dying.

He'll probably be all right. As long as burns hurt, Hyakkimaru doesn't worry about them. It's when they don't hurt that they're trouble.

He finds salt and lye and grabs one of the buckets to start mixing ingredients. He considers the lye--it's a good disinfectant, but harsh--and discards it, adding the herbs to water and crushing the mixture with loose stone.

One of the burned children--the little boy from before, he realizes with a start--comes over to see what he's doing, and he smears a streaky line of crushed herbs over the kid's burned cheekbone.

"Ow!" he yells, and his hand goes up to his face. Then he frowns. "Wait. It tingles. But it doesn't hurt."

"That's the idea," Hyakkimaru says. "Can you show me the people who are hurt the worst? They need this."

"Okay."

Hyakkimaru helps himself to the dry bandages hanging above the two heavy pots outside the tent, and follows the boy into the tent itself. It is crammed with people: standing up, lying down, sitting. Mostly women and children, but a few men line the sides of the tent, mostly standing.

One woman lies in the middle of the floor with a good foot of space in all directions cleared around her, and Hyakkimaru points. "What's wrong with her?"

"I think she's dead."

Hyakkimaru weaves through the crowd with his pail, careful not to brush against burn-sensitive skin, to the woman's side. Her arm is burned badly, and the damage extends over her shoulder to her neck and back. He blinks, notices she is wearing only a blanket, and realizes this must be the woman he saved.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

"Mizuha. Thank you. You--saved us."

"It was nothing," he mutters automatically. "Don't speak." Experimentally, he rests one finger on the burned arm. She doesn't even wince.

He frowns. This is bad. Of all the burns he's ever seen, the worst are ones like these: burns that go so deep they kill the nerves permanently. A lack of pain might seem to be a good thing at first, but over time the arm, and likely the back too, will collect more damage that it doesn't feel, that the rest of the body will have to compensate for, somehow.

It is at times like these that he misses the plasticity and endless inventive capabilities of his false body: any of his artificial body parts might be burned beyond help or shattered beyond repair in battle--indeed, they had been, time and again--and replaced. Jukai had given him dozens of iterations of his artificial body as he grew, and he'd only started realizing how fragile a real body was after getting the cut from Tanosuke's cursed sword. He touches the scar below his cheekbone--so light, most people probably don't notice it--and thinks about what to do for Mizuha. 

Human bodies aren't the same as the one he grew up with. He regrew his nerves with magical help, and that is not available to other people as far as he can tell. He sighs, dips both hands into his poultice mixture, and slathers it all over her arm. When he manages to saturate what looks like the worst area, he ties a bandage loosely around the arm to hold the poultice in place while it nourishes the skin and dries out. A little of this stuff has proven effective against burns, in the past--he'll try a larger dose and see what it does.

Unlike his false parts, the human body is capable of healing itself. Even if it doesn't heal whole, it does know how to unbreak itself, to an extent. That's the only hope he has for Mizuha, and all the other burn survivors he treats. They come to him in a line, burned mothers and fathers carrying children, and he remembers that he still doesn't fully know what happened here.

"Why are there so many children?" he asks one woman who approaches him, carrying a little boy with a slight burn on his foot and a broken arm. There's a shine to her cheek that may be a second-degree burn.

"My son was at the temple school when the butchers came," she says. "So many children were. I was nearby--I got out as many as I could, before the temple was surrounded."

"Why did they surround it?" Hyakkimaru tilts her chin so he can treat her burn as well as her son's, and she flinches from the pain of it.

Yep. Second-degree burn.

"Why else do raiders attack temples?"

Hyakkimaru tilts his head a little, confused. He holds both arms out to accept the boy, and looks him straight in the eyes. "Your arm is broken," he explains. "I need to pull it straight and then tie it to something so that it heals correctly. It will hurt a lot, but in a few weeks it will be like it never happened at all. Do you understand?"

The boy says nothing and looks terrified.

He sighs, a little exasperated. He's been treating injuries for what feels like hours and there is only one of him. Almost without thinking, he yells, "Iwasa!" in the same tone he'd use to inform the camp that their fire was getting out of control and about to escape their dug pit to the trees.

Iwasa comes promptly, with Akiko directly behind him and Tarou limping along behind, only a little slower than them now. "You called, kid?"

"Yeah. I need a straight stick for a splint," he says, looking significantly at Akiko, who runs off like she's possessed. "And I need someone to hold this boy still to reset the arm."

The boy cowers, hiding his face in his mother's kimono. He looks the mother in the eyes. "If we don't do this, his arm will be crooked and broken forever."

She nods understanding, whispers a few words in her son's ear and rubs his head, and he turns to face Hyakkimaru squarely. Iwasa crouches down. In short order, Akiko returns with a stick that is almost perfectly straight, though a little thicker than he likes. He nods to Iwasa, who grips the boy's shoulders as he yanks the broken arm forward and down with most of his strength.

He places the stick and the first bandages to stabilize it as the boy screams. A woman in a fine kimono and veiled headgear enters the tent, and a hush goes over the gathered people; even the boy quiets his screams to whimpers. Hyakkimaru takes his time applying bandages over the splint, then hands the boy back to his mother. He supposes he should find out what all the fuss is about now.

Unconsciously, he has gathered Akiko and Tarou close to him, as if to ensure that they're still here and undamaged. There are mostly adults around him now; most of the children he'd treated had vanished during his treatment of the broken arm. "Where are the other children?"

"I've sent them to a place in the village," the grandly dressed woman says. He can't see her face, and that troubles him; demons had often hidden their true faces from him. "Come with me, and I'm sure you and your friends could stay."

Well. Another temple burned, but at least he gets a place to stay...and the children will get a place indoors to sleep.

***

The woman's name is Takeshitsu Kaguya, and she's the daughter of the village headman. The house she brings them to is enormous: half the size of Daigo's palace or more, with three floors and a sprawling layout that seems to make all the other buildings surrounding it look smaller than they are.

"I've seen a lot of temples burning lately," he says, trying to think of a way to form his question. He realizes this is something he should probably ask Iwasa, if he wants a true answer, and decides to find him alone later. "Why? Who's doing it? What do they hope to gain?"

"Daigo's people have usually come in as looters," she answers with a little frown, "but the men that came this time bore no banner or symbol. I suspect they're raiders from the next city or next province over, come to make a profit since we're relatively weak and unprotected here."

Iwasa stiffens in something like surprise. Hyakkimaru finds that interesting. He summons up a yawn--not difficult, under the circumstances--and politely asks to retire for bed. Iwasa joins him in the hall, and Hyakkimaru sends Akiko and Tarou to the kitchen for a hot dinner and bed assignments; he and Iwasa have been assigned rooms.

Hyakkimaru and Iwasa do not say a word until they reach their guest quarters at the end of the hall, slide the door open, enter, and slide it closed.

"That woman is lying."

"Yes, you seem to think so," Hyakkimaru says, glad that Iwasa is willing to offer him this information, even without his asking. "Why do you think that?"

"I don't think it; I know it," Iwasa says. "A little over a month ago--wait, shit, it's two now--there was a huge battle, Asakura versus Daigo, very few survivors. We all thought Daigo was dead, but about a month ago my squad got sent out because he'd been sighted in this area."

"How do you know it was him?"

"Lightning scar on his forehead. Know many people with that?"

Hyakkimaru's stomach sinks, because Daigo is alive and apparently still in power. 

Iwasa stands tall and says, "We were looking for him. Him and other looters. But we found no sign of any, not from here or coming in from Kaga. I've bounced around the local militias all my life, and I've never seen that group before, ever."

"So what do you think?"

"I think that little stunt was staged," Iwasa says. He sounds enraged. "I think this was a trap for someone."

"Who?"

Iwasa shrugs. "Maybe you?"

"Me? Impossible."

"You say that but..." Iwasa thinks for a second, and his eyes widen. "No. Not you. This would be a trap for someone like me. That's a great idea, if you're Daigo. Put a village in danger, lure in the local militia, test their strength, return and wipe them out. Admit it--that sounds just like him, doesn't it?"

Hyakkimaru doesn't know. He knows Daigo is ruthless enough to go along with a plan like that, but he doesn't understand much of Daigo's strategy; he'd never made a study of such things.

"I want to search the house," Iwasa says, "and I'd feel better if you were with me. C'mon."

Hyakkimaru is exhausted. He could use the sleep.

But if the children are in a house with a bunch of liars and looters, he should probably find that out for sure. "I'm coming."

***

Through exploration, Hyakkimaru and Iwasa determine that the top two floors of the building are a house, but the basement is a prison. Cells with wooden and metal bars line two walls, and the center appears to be a sort of guardhouse that is fortunately unoccupied. It's dark, and water drips from the ceiling somewhere; he can't tell if anyone besides them is here.

"I told you," Iwasa says, voice low. "This is some shady shit. Who have they even got down here?"

"We'll find out."

They split up, with Hyakkimaru taking the cells along the east wall, Iwasa the west. There are few cells, only four in total on this wall. They are all the same size, reasonably large, and haven't been cleaned in a long while, judging by the smell. They are not lit, either, so it's difficult to tell if anyone's in them at all.

He comes to the final cell along the wall, the one closest to the steps leading into the house, when he hears a light cough. He cocks his ear toward the sound, listening; he sees nothing.

He puts his hands on the wooden slats of the jail cell and peers in, trying to get a better look. A familiar set of eyes meets his: it's like looking in his own jaded and bitter reflection. His eyes track up and notice the lightning scar.

"Daigo?" he whispers incredulously, staring into the begrimed face of the man he'd left behind at the Hall of Hell. "What--"

"Hyakkimaru," Daigo breathes. "I suppose you've come to kill me, then."


	8. Fourth Path: Right action (Samma Kammanta): Dororo Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right. She has soldiers, the soldiers have food, and she has Daigo. She needs to get Daigo to Enuma--or, bring the soldiers from Enuma here.
> 
> She puts her chin in both hands and thinks. "Asakura is along that road to the east," she mutters. If the army brings a litter, or a rickshaw, Daigo could be in enemy territory in just a few days. Not that they'd be going as enemies, of course.
> 
> "I've got it," she says brightly, looking up so fast her neck complains. "We'll make a trade deal with the Asakura clan."
> 
> Kaname raises an eyebrow. "You might want to get Daigo to call off the war, first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further complications ensue...I *am* writing this pretty diligently but the plot opened up into new places that I actually sort of like, which is why this keeps being posted piecemeal. Sorry about that.

Daigo is able to sit up after two days, and take solid food in three.

By that time, Biwamaru has returned to the Hall of Hell, with five letters in hand; some of Daigo's retainers had heard the summons and are on their way to muster up in Enuma. It will take them a week, perhaps two, to gather, but three of the local lords had offered to spread the word further and gather the remnants of Daigo's army as best they could in that time.

"Two weeks," Dororo says. "Will Daigo be able to ride by then?"

"Ride?" Daigo snorts into his rice, chopsticks askew as if he wants to stab something. "Impossible."

"A rickshaw might carry him, or a litter, but not a horse," Kaname says, and Dororo looks crestfallen because she knows he's right. They had gotten ahead of the problem of the retainers scattering, possibly, but there may be no way to negotiate any deals before spring, unless Daigo gets up and moving fast.

It might be good to have the vassals muster, then hunker down for winter and wait for spring. Dororo is half-tempted to do this, but waiting over winter gives Daigo's enemies the same advantage of time. She'd also rather not rebuild the destroyed hall before some kind of peace is settled--she doesn't want to rebuild again in a year.

"Biwamaru," she says, "Can you go back? I thought of something."

"Oh?" Biwamaru looks bemused.

"You know where my first emergency store of money is, right? I want you to buy as much food as you can with it--feeding all those men is going to be hard, especially if they stay in the city over winter."

"Already did it," Biwamaru says. "There was a lot in that storage jar, so there may be enough. But you'll need more capital come spring."

Of course. Traveling is also easier in spring--except for the rainy season.

All right. She has soldiers, the soldiers have food, and she has Daigo. She needs to get Daigo to Enuma--or, bring the soldiers from Enuma here.

She puts her chin in both hands and thinks. "Asakura is along that road to the east," she mutters. If the army brings a litter, or a rickshaw, Daigo could be in enemy territory in just a few days. Not that they'd be going as enemies, of course.

"I've got it," she says brightly, looking up so fast her neck complains. "We'll make a trade deal with the Asakura clan."

Kaname raises an eyebrow. "You might want to get Daigo to call off the war, first."

She reddens a little, then nods. "Yeah. That, too."

Daigo sighs. "You intend to bring the army this way?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

She looks to Biwamaru. "I don't want it to look like an invasion, but I don't want Daigo to be unprotected," she says. "How many is enough, but not too many?"

Biwamaru considers. "I would say fifty of the strongest and best-equipped retainers should go with Daigo as the vanguard. You, and about twenty others--archers, maybe, and scouts--could stay a mile or two back and serve as reinforcements, or messengers, if the main force gets in trouble."

"What, me?" Dororo had not even considered the possibility of going herself to make her case, but now that Biwamaru has mentioned it, she's not sure anyone will be able to stop her. "I can go? I can help?"

"Of cou--"

Daigo tilts his head in something like a weak nod, and interrupts Biwamaru: "All right, brat. I'll agree to your deal. You use my name, and rebuild my palace and my city with it. I don't care. But I have a condition."

"What?"

"That you go where I go. If I'm going into enemy territory, you're coming with me. If I'm in danger, so are you. Understand?"

She nods uncertainly. "So--you want me with the vanguard?"

"Precisely."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "No risk, no reward. And part of me is looking forward to seeing you fail."

Nice. Daigo is probably always going to be an asshole, isn't he?

Biwamaru smiles an enigmatic smile. "I may also travel with your men. I am looking forward to seeing what comes of all this, as well. For different reasons, I expect."

Daigo stares into his rice bowl. The rice has gone cold, and his chopsticks are utterly still.

"I want to build a better world," Dororo says. "Anyone who wants me to fail is someone I don't understand."

"Me either," Ryouma says next to her.

Daigo's eyes track between her and Ryouma for a moment, hooded and darkened. The pallid skin of his cheekbones makes him look older than he is, and for a moment, he appears sad, as well.

"Are you all right?" Kaname interjects, all clinical professionalism, and Daigo waves him away and sets his rice down.

"When will the army get here?" he asks.

***

The answer to Daigo's question proves complicated.

The next day brings an unexpected series of showers that make traveling on foot almost impossible, meaning Biwamaru cannot leave until the day after. He's blind, and even with his second sight the wet ground will be hard to traverse. Dororo doesn't think he can make it back to Enuma in less than five days--and that's if the weather holds.

Even when he gets there, it will be at least another week until all the retainers can get here--groups travel more slowly than single travelers, and many of them will be on foot.

"What a pain," she says, blowing a tendril of hair out of her face. She's stuck here with Daigo, Ryouma, and Kaname, listed in descending order of causing her irritation. She wants to move. She would have followed Biwamaru, but Ryouma would almost certainly have followed her, and she instinctively does not want to leave Kaname alone with Daigo for too long. Kaname is a good person, but he blames Daigo for a lot of things. So does she. It's good for them to keep an eye on each other.

Daigo's color continues to improve over the next few days, but he still can't stand up by himself. Even ten days after initially getting him treatment, he's weaker than anyone she's ever seen--weaker than her mother the day she'd starved to death. For all his acquiescence, it seems that Daigo doesn't have much reason--or wherewithal--to live.

Ryouma sticks to her like glue as she fetches supplies--bark of dead willow trees from the grove outside the hall to treat pain; endless buckets of water, flax for Kaname, who can apparently make surgical thread from it once it's dried. After the first three days or so, Ryouma stops insisting that she can't do any work because of her girly parts, and becomes marginally easier to tolerate. He observes and copies her, which means twice the medicine, water, and flax; Kaname is overjoyed at this largesse.

Sometime on the sixth day, she and Ryouma venture a little farther afield than normal; Kaname had told them not to strip too much bark off any one willow tree for fear of weakening it before the onset of winter. They discover a new grove and start peeling the first layers of bark from the base of the trees. The moment is easy and peaceful, and Ryouma doesn't offer any of his unwanted opinions at all.

Dororo is somewhat surprised, but uses the opportunity to ask Ryouma point-blank: "Hey, Ryouma. Who taught you that girls can't do any work, anyway?"

"Huh?" He scratches his head and puts bark in his basket, then turns back to his tree. "I never said they couldn't. Ma taught me that they shouldn't. It's not proper. Men should do the heavy lifting. Women should take care of food and children. Isn't that right?"

Dororo remembers his cowering in fear of what he thought had been Daigo's corpse. She remembers bringing in the rain barrels by herself. She remembers that she'd taught him the proper methods to skin bark and cut flax with a diagonal strike for optimal drying.

If she didn't also remember that Hyakki had taught her the basic movements and motor control for many of these tasks, she might assume boys were just incompetent. Instead, she just thinks Ryouma is like her before meeting Hyakkimaru--a kid with a lot to learn. Also, a kid with a mother like that probably grew up a lot richer than she did. No wonder he's so sheltered.

"I don't think so," she says. "I think people who can work, and know how, should work. And they should teach others. Boy or girl doesn't really come into it." Her father had been physically stronger than her mother, but her mother had been more than capable as a fighter. It is largely thanks to her that Dororo had not been found out as a girl and raped. She had seen that happen to other girls, both from afar (with her mother crossing battlefields) and up close (with Mio). She doesn't want to think about how that kind of violence could have broken her. She decides to focus on the fact that it hadn't--and wouldn't. She can take care of herself.

Ryouma nods hesitantly, a jerky movement up and down. "I know you're better at helping Kaname than me," he grumbles, looking at his feet. "But I'm trying."

"You're improving," she says. Her bark basket is half full. Ryouma's is a third of the way there. He really is being helpful.

She decides to be grateful. She's going to need all the help she can get with Daigo.

***

By the time the quick scouting force arrives on the afternoon of the seventeenth day, Daigo is able to stand of his own volition, though he can't walk more than ten feet or so without assistance.

When the scouts do appear, they emerge out of mist on the right and left sides of the road leading to the Hall of Hell as if materializing out of water. Dororo encounters them before anyone else, and even after she can see them she doesn't hear anything--not even the sound of their horses' footfalls.

They're good, obviously.

She sets a rain barrel down completely and hails them. The two riders in front call a halt, but do not dismount. She approaches cautiously and introduces herself. "I'm Dororo," she says, omitting the 'world's greatest thief' part because she knows her audience. "Daigo-sama is probably resting, but he may be up to receiving you. May I introduce you?"

Kaname had taught her most of this speech. It's not perfectly polite, but it's not likely to get her beheaded by Daigo's loyal retainers, either.

The two riders at the head of the party slap their chests and salute, introducing themselves one after the other. They are a man named Kurakawa Yamato and a woman named Oosuji Sayaka. Both are archers that ride horseback; longbows are strapped to their backs and both of their quivers are full of long black-tipped arrows. Oosuji has a long scar across her nose to her chin from where a blade must have gouged in, and looks fiercer at the outset than Kurokawa, whose long straight hair, slim shoulders and large eyes make him appear effete.

The way he moves, though, reminds Dororo strongly of Hyakkimaru: no wasted movements, highly reactive to any environmental change. Even on horseback, he turns on a dime. She is certain that she wouldn't want to be on his bad side.

She runs ahead of the scouting party to tell Daigo and Kaname about their visitors. When she arrives at the Hall of Hell, Daigo and Kaname are sitting still and quiet. Kaname's shoulders shake, and Dororo stops herself before fully entering; she doesn't want to intrude on this scene.

Too late.

The moment seems frozen. Daigo is entirely supine, eyes open, staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide and his face hard. Kaname is crying without making a sound; tears fall down his cheeks and stream down into the folds of his hakama. Daigo says: "It wasn't personal," in a tone that's almost polite.

"Then what was it?" Kaname asks in a whisper.

"It was intimidation tactics. I had to keep my people safe. Your people were on the wrong side. I didn't choose them specifically; I rarely do. They were in the way."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better." It's not a question. Dororo holds her breath. This conversation is potentially very dangerous for Daigo; she should intervene somehow. But her feet are frozen, and her jaw feels unhinged; the sound she tries to make dies in her throat.

"No," Daigo says softly. He closes his eyes. "I did what I did because my father taught me how to conduct wars, and I believed in his methods."

Kaname's head jerks up. "What happened to your father?"

"He died in a war," Daigo says, "along with my older brothers, my sister, and my mother. I became--ruthless, for a while after that. But no more ruthless than any other samurai lord, I think."

Dororo is vaguely aware that Hyakkimaru has no living blood relatives besides Daigo, but hearing it put this way, straight from Daigo's mouth, makes her breath catch. Shock helps her kick herself into motion again; the scouts will be here very soon.

Kaname opens his mouth to say something, then sees Dororo approaching and snaps it shut. "The scouting party is here," Dororo says. "Kurakawa Yamato and Oosuji Sayaka want an audience."

Daigo snorts. "So Yamato survived? Send them in when they arrive. Kaname, help me sit up."

Kaname frowns and hesitates for a moment, but complies. Dororo goes to find Ryouma so that they can set up the surrounding area for tents and bedding; the scouts will need a place to sleep.

***

Kurakawa and Oosuji aren't married, but they act like they are in the middle of an acrimonious divorce.

Dororo endures an afternoon of bickering that thoroughly confuses her, playing middleman after Daigo goes to sleep. She has no basis of comparison for this situation. When her parents had fought, it had always been over important things--money for trading shipments, food for the fighters, the sick, the injured.

Kurokawa and Oosuji fight, first, about who gets to sleep in the hall near Daigo and who is relegated to the outside steps and wall. Dororo understands this fight; it involves status. "My family has higher rank than yours, gaki-zamurai," Oosuji scoffs.

"But I'm related to him on his mother's side, and I brought a physician," Kurakawa insists. "We'll split the supplies equally."

Dororo offers, "Daigo-san already has a physic--"

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to, child," Oosuji says with a chopping motion of her hand. "We've brought more than enough," she says to Kurokawa. "I'm just asking for a little more."

He sighs. "How much more?"

Dororo watches them barter back and forth for a while. She tries to understand why Kurakawa caves to Oosuji (despite protests), and figures she must be older, though it's hard to tell, especially with her scar.

In the end, Oosuji and five handpicked scouts set up bedrolls in the Hall of Hell. An additional five camp out under the eaves of the engawa, leaving Kurakawa's party to set up tents beneath the stairs.

This place won't be able to house seventy people. When the rest of the party gets here with Biwamaru, they'll have to leave as soon as possible.

That's fine by Dororo. Sharing the temple with five other people makes her feel claustrophobic.

***

Traveling in a litter is really no fun at all.

She, Ryouma and Kaname had gained the dubious honor of accompanying Daigo in his gigantic litter by virtue of the fact that they'd saved his life. When Dororo had tried to wave this honor aside, as she'd much rather walk or ride horseback, Kurakawa had given her a look like she'd gone insane--and Oosuji had given her a matching one--so she had accepted.

These people are so obsessed with propriety and status that she wonders, often, who it was that put the sticks up their asses.

For his part, Daigo doesn't seem to care much for the propriety of any of it, but he is pleased that Dororo is going where he is going--exactly so. That's what he wanted, after all.

Sharing space with Daigo isn't quite as crushingly horrible as she'd assumed it would be. He sleeps most of the time. His physical injuries have faded to scar tissue with the exception of the one on his skull, which is still tender and red when Kaname removes the bandages--but even that's closed over. His weariness stems from age, or perhaps from infection; Kaname isn't sure, and Dororo isn't sure he's right.

She'd seen her father live through injuries to his legs and spine that should have killed him several times over. She'd witnessed Hyakkimaru, limbless, blind, and deaf, fight for survival with a tenacity that she admired even if she didn't fully understand it. Based on this, she assumes the Daigo's problem is not purely physical. It has to do with his will to live.

_Don't assume you saved me._

But if he dies before Dororo's plans come to fruition, it will really come to the same thing. As they travel, she tries thinking of reasons for Daigo to live that aren't selfish; reasons that he himself might agree are valid.

His people are loyal to him; that much is obvious. When he'd arrived at the Hall of Hell, the meathead that now leads the main force of the men on foot had kowtowed so low and been so effusive in his praise that even Daigo had blushed pink in embarrassment on his behalf.

He has been powerful, and even if he is less powerful now, he commands. He is like her father in that way: natural at leading people, though there is an undercurrent that she senses in him that she'd never felt from her own father. It's hard for her to wrap her head around it, but it's like Daigo knows for a fact that what he's asking people to do, or what he may ask them to do, could be wrong. Daigo is aware of terrifying consequences. She wonders if he was like this before Hyakkimaru's return or not, but she assumes that he was.

She also doesn't know how to talk to an adult about finding a reason to live. Every adult she'd ever met already had at least one. So she thinks about it while Daigo sleeps and Kaname and Ryouma spin flax. They have to pass the time somehow until they reach Asakura's first main trading outpost and track down a representative of the lord to call a cease-fire. That takes precedence over Daigo's suicidal--or nihilistic--will.

They cross over into Asakura territory after five days. Wind blows off the ocean, cold, and the party decides to camp in place near the trees where there's some cover. Dororo goes to gather wood for the fires while Ryouma helps settle Daigo onto a flat patch of ground without boulders on it to rest.

When the camp is settled and quiet, Oosuji enters through the litter's cloth front flaps and salutes. "There's a bridge ahead," she says grimly. "It's not wide enough for the litter."

Daigo pales and looks vaguely sick.

"I see," Kaname says. "Horseback, then?"

"Can Daigo-sama handle it?" she asks Kaname. Her question is somehow scrupulously polite while simultaneously expressing concern for what is essentially an old man's health.

Kaname frowns at the question. "His internal injuries are healed, as far as they can be without more rest. As long as he doesn't fall, he shouldn't reinjure himself."

"Then I will lash him to my horse tomorrow morning."

***

Oosuji is as good as her word. She also rides behind Daigo on the same horse, with Kurakawa advancing ahead of her to ensure the structural soundness of the bridge. Dororo chooses to wait on her side of the bridge until most of the horses and people have crossed; she doesn't want to add any extra weight if she can help it.

Daigo makes it across safely. Infantry line up next and cross in pairs. Ryouma slaps Dororo on the shoulder and asks, "Pair?"

"Sure."

She waits for a gap in the soldiers and gets on the bridge, Ryouma following her. The boards are rotted in places beneath her feet, and there are even a few missing; this must have been built a long time ago. The spray of rapids drifts up from below, soaking her in seconds.

Still, she and Ryouma are far lighter than any horse, and they make it to the other side with nothing worse than wet hair and chilled limbs.

By the time they find Daigo, Oosuji and Kurakawa have built a fire up fairly high. Daigo warms himself next to it, and Dororo gladly spreads her hands before the flames. Ryouma blows into his chillblained hands.

"Who built that bridge?" Dororo asks. "It's falling apart."

Daigo tilts his head toward her, "My great-grandfather, Hachimatsu Daigo, built the bridge with the Asakura lord. I forget his name. It's been almost a hundred years since anyone tried peace."

Old feuds are the worst. Her father had usually assimilated or made allies of his enemies when possible, but she remembers how long Itachi held a grudge over keeping spoils back. She remembers how that turned out.

Dororo gulps. It's something to keep in mind when they find an Asakura representative--or a samurai lord in this region.

After the scouts build their own fires, the camp pauses for the luxury of a hot meal. Dororo is grateful for it, but they're losing daylight. When she asks how this will impede their progress, Daigo shrugs the question off. "The roads should be fine," Daigo says around a mouthful of miso soup. "This is a major military vein for the Asakura. There may be soldiers along this route, sooner rather than later. It's safer to rest now and travel at night."

Dororo nods uncertainly. She hates traveling in darkness. For the first time, she's grateful she'll be riding in the litter.

***

It's late when the scouts stop--or perhaps very very early. Dororo had scarcely been able to sleep from the bumping in the cart. Daigo and Ryouma had spent the time sleeping like rocks (and snoring like thunder), leaving her and Kaname to stare awkwardly at one another and speak in whispers. "Are you sure snoring like that is normal? He could be sick," she had whispered.

Kaname had smiled. "I suspect Daigo-sama has severe allergies."

"And Ryouma?"

"Deviated septum. Very obvious. No cure, except maybe surgery, and I've never performed it."

"Figures."

The litter cart being still makes a nice change. She almost falls asleep sitting up, eyes fluttering open and closed, myoclonic jerks affecting her legs and arms, but she can't quite drop off. Something feels off, somehow.

Her eyes snap open wide when she clearly identifies the smell of smoke.

She is tempted to disregard it, since it is likely just a cooking fire or something. Kaname is soundly asleep, as is Ryouma; no one has come to check on them since Oosuji called the halt. Everything is probably fine.

"That's not a cooking fire," Daigo says, and Dororo nearly jumps out of her skin. She hadn't realized he was awake.

"What is it?"

"There's a building on fire. Probably not my people, but based on the proximity, we'll be blamed." He closes his eyes and mutters unintelligibly to himself.

Dororo is briefly stunned by the idea that they'll be blamed for a crime that Asakurans committed on their own people. By the idea that she'll have lost before she ever really tried.

Daigo lets out a whistle like a warbler or a finch, and Kurakawa is instantly there, bowing low, as if he'd been waiting in the shadows the whole time. For all Dororo knows, he could have been. "I need you to get the children and scouts out of here," he says. "Form up with the muster at Enuma and return when you have enough men and resources to ransom or capture me."

Ransom? Capture?

Kurakawa nods assent automatically, then asks in disbelief: "Are you serious?"

"I came here to make peace," Daigo says. "We can't do that if I run. But the Asakurans won't spare the children even if they can't fight. They need to be protected."

"Understood. Give me a few moments to make preparations."

Kurakawa vanishes as fast as he came, almost without sound, and Dororo gapes at Daigo in disbelief. "What happened to 'everything that happens to me, happens to you, too?'"

Daigo grins wolfishly: the first expression she's seen on him that reminds her of his bad old self. "My game, my rules. We'll both be working toward peace, and taking on the associated risks. That's what matters."

"Will the Asakura kill you?"

"Probably not, if they think they can ransom me. Not immediately, anyway."

"And what if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll have put you in the charge of my best men. They will do anything to destroy or assimilate Asakura if I die because of them. I can't create more options for you than that. Not with that building going up in flames, with us so nearby."

Dororo nods. His reasoning makes sense...if..."How do you know this is a building fire and not someone burn-cutting a field, or a forest fire?"

"Are you an idiot? Don't you smell roofing straw?"

She reddens at being called 'idiot,' then sniffs again. She can't smell anything that specific. "I don't," she says, "but I believe you." He's a samurai lord. He's burned enough buildings to know what one smells like.

"I still don't understand why you're sending me away."

Daigo sighs heavily and looks at the ceiling of the litter. After a short pause that feels long in the stillness punctuated by Ryouma's snores: "You said you wanted to build a better world," Daigo says quietly.

"Yeah," Dororo says casually, feeling like his response is disconnected from her question. "You remembered. I'm impressed."

"Oh, shut up, child. I'm trying to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I wanted the same thing."

"You--did? How? When?"

"When I sold the most precious thing I had to demons." His voice tightens and goes quiet; if the silence around them were not complete, she would not have been able to hear him.

"Go," he says softly. "My son would not forgive me if you were captured here."

She nods thickly and kicks Ryouma awake. Kurakawa reappears at the entrance of the litter some ten seconds later and pulls her up piggyback; another of his men does the same to Ryouma and they break into a run in the direction of the bridge.

It is easier to smell, and see, the fire from outside the litter. There is a burnished ember glow at the horizon line, and its sheer size suggests an enormous building; likely not a house, but a temple or storage building, maybe. The crackling sound is a low hum that reminds her of the aftereffects of lightning striking ground. The ash in the air makes her cough and wheeze, but Kurakawa and the man carrying Ryouma breathe steadily as they run, as if they are unaffected.

When they reach the treeline at the edge of camp, Kurakawa sets her down and whistles for his mount. Ryouma is set down beside her, and in the space of thirty seconds Kurakawa grabs her by her uwagi and draws her up before him on a horse. It nickers softly; Kurakawa hushes it, and then he and Dororo are heading into the trees, away from the fire.

Away from Daigo. She has heard Daigo's explanation, but she still does not understand it.

Ryouma and his infantry guard follow her and Kurakawa a bit more slowly, but just as quietly; it's hard to tell where they are in the dark. After they've traveled a ways from the fire--far enough away that she can no longer hear it--Dororo whispers, "You abandoned your lord."

Kurakawa says, "Temporarily."

"Why did you obey?"

"Failure to obey is death."

"So you'll go back for him?"

"When you're safe."

"Why do I matter?"

"Because he says you do."

"Keep it down," Oosuji hisses from behind them, voice stunning Dororo at its crisp closeness. She had not realized that any of the other scouts were so near. "I think we're being followed."


	9. Fifth Path: Right Livelihood (Samma Ajiva) - Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they reach the top of the stairs, Hyakkimaru allows Daigo to half-walk again. He also tears his obi almost in half and uses the torn part to conceal Daigo's lightning scar; even in the dark of night, anyone that got close enough to them might recognize that mark.
> 
> "Do you know where you're going?" he asks.
> 
> Kaname nods sharply. "Allies are closer than I thought. They just didn't know where we were. I know how to find them."
> 
> "Do you need an escort?"
> 
> "Oh, please," Daigo says disdainfully. "I think you've played the dutiful son role long enough, haven't you? Leave. This sickens me."
> 
> Kaname's eyes track from Daigo to Hyakkimaru in confusion. "I thought your son was dead."
> 
> "He is," Hyakkimaru says. Kaname has been supporting Daigo stably for perhaps two minutes or so; it's clear he can carry him a ways if it comes to that. Hyakkimaru turns his attention to Daigo. "Last time we met I told you to live," Hyakkimaru says. "Now I'm not telling you; I'm ordering you. Live."
> 
> Daigo harrumphs. "Or?"
> 
> Hyakkimaru smiles an unhinged smile, one that makes him feel a little crazy. "I'll haunt you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> あけましておめでとうございます！

Hyakkimaru stands before Kagemitsu Daigo, staring at him through bamboo slats. "No," Hyakkimaru says. "No, I--" 

This makes no sense. Why is this prison here? Why is Daigo in Asakura territory? What is Kaguya's family up to, anyway, by building a place like this? And where is Iwasa? He must have searched the other row of cells by now--

Daigo had asked him if he'd come to kill him. Hyakkimaru takes a deep breath. "I came up here to find out if the fire I helped put out earlier was a trap," Hyakkimaru says, folding his arms, unconsciously creating another barrier between him and Daigo while his mind races. He hadn't expected to see him here, or ever, and now that he's facing him he feels alone and exposed in a way he hadn't at the Hall of Hell, surrounded by evidence of his own abuse and abandonment. This feels different. This feels like meeting an enemy, exposing a weakness--even if Daigo is obviously sick, and not making threats--yet.

"Ah, a fire." Daigo nods. "Were there any survivors?"

"A few. Did you start the fire?" he asks, because that is the next logical question. Daigo is alive. It's not a surprise that he'd be in Asakura territory, then, picking up where he left off after his last defeat. The only surprising thing is finding him behind bars. When Hyakkimaru's mind supplies this explanation for the situation, he relaxes marginally because the explanation is plausible even if all the pieces don't fit. 

"No. I was trying to put it out, when--"

So much for plausible explanations. "Wait, wait." Hyakkimaru puts up his hand. "You, put out a fire? In Asakura territory?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Daigo sighs. "Your idiot friend has asked me to negotiate a trade deal. This town was on the way, so I stopped to help. I was attacked when I entered the burning building, and knocked out. When I awoke, I was here.

"Now you know what I know," Daigo says in clipped fashion. "What do you think of it?"

"I think it all sounds unbelievable."

"You can believe him," a scratchy voice says in the dark. "Dororo found me and had me get Daigo--"

Hyakkimaru tracks the voice as best he can by hearing, but is not able to see the speaker's face. "Dororo?" he asks, cutting the speaker off. "Is she here?"

"No," the man says. "But she asked me to get Daigo back in shape to travel. It's our bad luck that someone else is setting fires--wrong place, wrong time."

Hyakkimaru asks, "And who are you?"

"Kamado Kaname," the man says. "I'm--a doctor, of sorts."

Kaname. Hyakkimaru finds that name vaguely familiar, but he can't immediately place it and Daigo is the problem immediately in front of him, so he focuses on it. He turns away from the cell for a moment, searching for movement in the dark--Iwasa, a guard, anyone--but nothing moves. The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

"Wait for me," he hisses to the dark. "I'll be back."

Probably. If whatever got Iwasa doesn't get him, too. Iwasa may be fine, he tells himself, but he's not convinced. He is not in the room anymore, and he had not called out or made a sound before leaving it. All of this points to something very bad.

He wishes his new eyes were as good at telling demons from darkness as his mind's eye had been. He's at a disadvantage here.

When he reaches the far corner of the room--the place he'd last seen Iwasa--the floor is slick with something; maybe water, maybe blood. He sniffs it and gets a strong iron smell: blood, then. Hyakkimaru looks up and sees a gap in the ceiling maybe three feet wide: wide enough for a person to fit through if they were lifted or pulled through it. Hyakkimaru has no issue leaping up and catching the edges of the gap, then pulling himself through it; he'd routinely done more complex gymnastics as a blind child.

When his head rises through the gap, there is Mitsuha standing with a lantern some twenty feet away; he nearly jumps ten feet up again when he identifies her by the burned skin of her hands. "Mitsuha," he gasps, "it's not safe; why are you--" She shouldn't have been moved from where she was; he's not even sure how she could make it this far on her own, in her condition.

She's smiling at him, and her face changes subtly, taking on a sheen like burned skin. "Mitsuha died in a fire," she says, "a long time ago."

Hyakkimaru plants his feet, grounds himself into his base and freezes there, ready to fight if the situation turns that way. "Then who are you?"

Her face pinches. "I'm insulted. Aren't you Hyakkimaru, the demon-slayer of Kaga?"

"Uh...yeah, I'm Hyakkimaru." He hadn't been aware of his reputation before this--at least, not among monsters.

"Then why don't you know a demon when you see one?" Her shadow elongates behind her, glowing red in the light of the lantern she holds aloft. The shadow develops spikes like teeth or rays of the sun: sharp and bright licking flames surround her body without consuming it.

Fire demon. He had eliminated the demons in Daigo's land, but hadn't considered that Asakura might have its own breed of monster. 

Even on fire, she doesn't smell like a demon. That makes him hesitate for a moment before he unsheathes, but it's only a moment and she is slower than him. Her first hit gets deflected by an X-cut; he doesn't bother with the fire surrounding her and focuses on placing slashes to her core and head.

She's smart and retreats to a corner, lighting the building on fire in seconds and blocking Hyakkimaru's ability to attack from two sides. But having her cornered has some advantages, too. He uses both kodachi: one through her stomach and one through her skull, pinning her to the burning wall before it is consumed.

"Ouch." She frowns at the left sword, the one designed to kill demons, but she doesn't appear to be in that much pain.

"Where is Iwasa?" Hyakkimaru gasps as he pins her to the wall. Iwasa must have come this way and encountered the demon; he might still be here somewhere.

"That man set fires," the demon Mitsuha hisses, eyes glowing like stoked embers. "He murdered women like me. He deserves to be punished." 

Hyakkimaru recognizes the venom in her tone. He understands it as being provoked by the same kind of rage that had made him kill more than a dozen of Daigo's men outside Mio's temple. He can't deny that she has a grievance, but he suspects Iwasa's situation is more complicated than that. "I understand," he says, because on some level, he does. "Let me punish him."

"You?" Her eyes track to his his, wicked and mischievous. "Interesting. What will you do to him?"

"I'll find out the truth," Hyakkimaru says, "and make him atone when I find out exactly what he did."

"And why would you do that?"

"I don't--" This is a difficult thought to express. "I don't think you're evil." Even this close, with the wall burning in front of him, she doesn't smell like anything but fire. If she's a demon, her aura is clear. 

"Ch." She blinks and is immediately free of his swords; the fire behind her goes out, leaving a few marks of charring on the wall. She's free, but she doesn't attack Hyakkimaru; not immediately. "Of course I'm not evil. You idiot children, always thinking in black-and-white terms." She tosses her hair over her burned shoulder. "Why should I entrust my revenge to you?"

"Because Iwasa is one man, and I know him--better than almost anyone, probably. If anyone can punish him effectively, it will be me. All you can do is give him physical pain. He'll never even understand what he did wrong."

"And you will make him understand it?"

"Yes."

She tilts her head. "Interesting," she repeats. "How will I know?"

He thinks. "I can come back," he says. "Give me a year. If Iwasa doesn't understand what he's done and it's punished to your satisfaction, I'll give him back to you."

"And if you don't return?"

He shrugs. "Then call on your friends and sic them on me." It won't be the first time an army of demons has been on his trail.

"Hm." There is a puff of dark gray smoke, and Iwasa drops from midair to the floor, coughing like he's dying. Hyakkimaru slaps him on the back as hard as he can to dislodge as much of the crap in his lungs as possible. 

He looks for Mizuha and sees her shape, dim and fading like the light of a candle. "Wait," he calls as her spirit fades. "There's just one thing--"

"Yes?" She raises one half-singed eyebrow.

"In Kaga," he says, "the demons could only manifest if they stole part of a human's body. Is that--what you're doing? Is that how it works here?" He doesn't get the same sick sense from Mitsuha as he had from the Hall of Hell demons, and he wants to know why.

She laughs, a bright sound like bells ringing. "That old trick only works for a generation. I think you'll find most of us take the long view here, and organ trafficking isn't useful to most of us. You'll find the odd duck here and there, but..."

He nods in understanding; these demons--ghosts?--must use more humane ways of sticking around. "Then how do you stay--alive?" 

She puts her finger to her lips and disappears.

***

After a coughing fit that makes Hyakkimaru fear Iwasa will literally cough up a lung, Iwasa passes out completely and becomes unresponsive. Hyakkimaru surveys the damage to the room where he and Mizuha had fought. The room's condition could be worse, considering it had literally been on fire. Mizuha could have killed Iwasa. He breathes a sigh and allows himself a single moment to be grateful.

Then he remembers that he already has too many problems to deal with: Daigo. Daigo's--friend. Iwasa, passed out. The children, somewhere in this godsforsaken house. The burned village. Threats of war. And now, his promise to Mizuha on Iwasa's behalf.

So he takes several deep breaths past the lingering smoke and tells himself, "One at a time." Then he positions Iwasa in a supine position so that the air he breathes will be cleaner than it is higher up, and returns to the cellar prison on his own. He doesn't want to push Iwasa back down there while he's unconscious. He could break a leg, or break his skull, by falling through that hole and landing wrong.

He returns to the cell where Daigo and Kaname are. The door is locked with barred iron, but the locking mechanism is delicate--intricate and half-rusted, therefore easy to break. Hyakkimaru kicks in the rusted part and watches the locking mechanism separate from the door in satisfaction. If Daigo were younger, or simply stronger, escaping this place would be a piece of cake.

Two sets of eyes track to him in the darkness, and he says, "I know a way out of here, to a camp where you can get supplies. Maybe horses. Can you walk?"

"I can," Kaname says, "but Daigo-san may need some help."

Hyakkimaru snorts at the honorific and lifts Daigo easily. Daigo thrashes, body demanding to be put down, and they stare at each other in an odd sort of standoff until Hyakkimaru decides to hook one of Daigo's arms over his shoulder and start walking.

"This is undignified," Daigo mutters.

"Your dignity or your freedom," Hyakkimaru says. "C'mon."

As they cross the prison ground to the steps that lead to the main floor of the house, Kaname asks, "Why are you helping us?"

"I have reason to believe you didn't start the fire," Hyakkimaru says cautiously. "And you said you came here with Dororo." He wants to see her. Hearing her name again had conjured up an image of her face at sunset in the light of Daigo's burned palace, but the edges of that image are blurred: he's forgetting her--at least that part of her--and he doesn't want to.

"She's not here," Daigo says hoarsely. "I sent her back to Kaga for reinforcements."

"Oh." He's disappointed. But the idea of Daigo working with Dororo has taken root in him. It sounds insane, but he believes it--because Kaname had said it and not Daigo. The admixture of Daigo and Dororo working together makes him understand, at least on a surface level, that stability, continuity and order can be powerful factors when trying to build lasting peace.

If killing Daigo would end the current spate of wars going on all along the coast, he would do so without hesitation. He doesn't want Daigo in power. But he doesn't want a succession war, either, or a power vacuum for other warring states to exploit. He understands at least that much of what Dororo must be planning, and silently applauds her for making the decision to keep Daigo in place. He's not sure he could have done the same.

But he can make sure that his own decisions don't get in the way of hers. He owes her that much.

The stairs, predictably, are too much for Daigo, so Hyakkimaru winds up carrying him bridal style all the way to the top. He isn't able to view Daigo's face from that angle, but Kaname's mortified expression provides him with some sense of twisted satisfaction.

Daigo is pretty damned weak, at least right now. Hyakkimaru is tempted to escort them to the border, lest all Dororo's plans come to nothing by means of pure human sickness. He won't know if he has to guide them back to Kaga until he measures what Kaname is capable of.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Hyakkimaru allows Daigo to half-walk again. He also tears his obi almost in half and uses the torn part to conceal Daigo's lightning scar; even in the dark of night, anyone that got close enough to them might recognize that mark.

"Good idea," Kaname says. As Hyakkimaru ties the half-obi firmly into place, Kaname supports Daigo's shoulder. "Thanks, kid. I'll take him from here."

"Do you know where you're going?"

Kaname nods sharply. "Allies are closer than I thought. They just didn't know where we were. I know how to find them."

"Do you need an escort?"

"Oh, please," Daigo says disdainfully. "I think you've played the dutiful son role long enough, haven't you? Leave. This sickens me."

Kaname's eyes track from Daigo to Hyakkimaru in confusion. "I thought your son was dead."

"He is," Hyakkimaru says. Kaname has been supporting Daigo stably for perhaps two minutes or so; it's clear he can carry him a ways if it comes to that. Hyakkimaru turns his attention to Daigo. "Last time we met I told you to live," Hyakkimaru says. "Now I'm not telling you; I'm ordering you. Live."

Daigo harrumphs. "Or?"

Hyakkimaru smiles an unhinged smile, one that makes him feel a little crazy. "I'll haunt you."

***

Leaving Daigo in what he hopes are good hands, Hyakkimaru spins on his heel and runs back to Kaguya's house at full speed. He hopes that Iwasa will have awakened from his coughing fit by the time he returns...but he's also not sure if that's a reasonable expectation.

Iwasa had been close to dying. Hyakkimaru had saved his life--not just spared it, as he already had several times in the past, but actually saved it. At the time it had been instinctive, reflexive; he had wanted to save Iwasa if at all possible, and the situation had provided all necessary possibilities. He recognizes the feeling of wanting to save someone--he had saved Dororo, and before that Jukai, not to mention himself--often enough, but there is something different about this situation that bothers him.

For one thing, the demon's--aura, or smell, had been wrong. The demon had spoken using human words; he is not accustomed to having any sort of sophisticated conversation with demons. 

He finds Iwasa where he'd fallen, but conscious. When Hyakkimaru pops up into the room through the hole in the floor, he jumps about ten feet and gets his back to the wall--the wall that the demon Mizuha had threatened to burn down. "Relax, it's me."

"Hyakkimaru?" he says. "What happened? Where am I? Where were you?"

Hyakkimaru rests his chin in one hand. "A demon attacked you," he says. "She said you burned some temples and killed some people." Hyakkimaru knows this is true. Though Iwasa hadn't set the fires, they'd met at a fiery temple massacre, and Hyakkimaru is unlikely to forget those circumstances.

"Yeah. Me and every other samurai in a hundred miles," he scoffs.

"Not me," Hyakkimaru says softly. He blinks, and remembers the fires Midoro had set, while he'd been riding her. Perhaps he's not so innocent of fire, himself. But he's lost too much to fire to ever willingly, consciously set a fire. Mizuha must have seen that, or believed that. Otherwise...

Iwasa shrugs. "It's not like I like destroying someone's house or temple or whatever. It's," he says, looking up for a moment, "orders, I guess. Bad orders." He frowns. "How'd you get me out of it?"

"I promised the demon I'd make you have remorse for your actions."

Iwasa laughs. "Well, good luck with that, buddy." Then he frowns. "If you saved me, where were you when I woke up?"

"Taking out the trash," he says. "I found Kagemitsu Daigo in a cell."

"Shit, for real? How'd you know it was him?"

"Lightning scar. Arrogant attitude. Hard to mistake."

"I see," Iwasa says. "Does 'taking out the trash' mean you killed him, then?"

"What? No!"

Iwasa sits up and coughs. "Well, why? Daigo dead would solve a lot of Asakura's problems."

And cause a lot more. Hyakkimaru may not understand Dororo's methods, but he's always trusted her reasoning. Killing Daigo is not the answer. "I let him go."

"You what." It's not a question: it's quiet, hard, and Hyakkimaru has probably never been more scared of Iwasa than in this moment. He doesn't even remember being this scared of him when he'd first encountered him at a temple gate with a gun.

Hyakkimaru sits down next to Iwasa, very close, shoulders almost touching, and hunches in on himself. He knows what he has to do. He has to give Iwasa at least some piece of himself.

He doesn't want to. He feels he's sacrificed enough pieces.

But he'd also promised to make Iwasa understand.

"You've asked who I am, a lot," he says. "So I'll tell you."

"What does your identity have to do with letting Daigo live?" The question sounds murderous.

"My given name is Hyakkimaru," he says, "but my family name is Daigo." His mother had wanted to name him Tahoumaru, but that name had gone to his fallen brother. 

Iwasa's eyes widen in shock.

"Damn, man, you were holding out on me," he says, voice low. "Why didn't you tell me you were Daigo's brat?"

"I'm not," he says. Not in any way that matters. "He abandoned me." It's worse than that, but Hyakkimaru can't explain that while maintaining his current sense of self, so he leaves it there. 

"Ah. Why help him, then?"

"I wasn't helping him." Allowing Daigo to die--or languish in prison--would threaten Dororo's plans for Kaga, and he does not want to interfere negatively with those plans. He's caused her enough trouble for this lifetime.

It is possible that Dororo is in trouble if she's with Daigo, but he's willing to bet the Asakura would be worse. She's not a citizen. She's young, not formally trained to fight. Much as he hates to admit it, without him, she needs someone like Daigo.

"I wasn't helping him," Hyakkimaru repeats, insistent. "I was helping Kaga. And Asakura."

Iwasa glares at him for a long while. "There are times when I forget you're a child," Iwasa mutters. "Help me up."

And Hyakkimaru does, but it feels hard for him to breathe. He's told Iwasa one of his secrets. He's promised a demon something, on pain of being hunted by demons again. He doesn't know where the children are. Dororo is...somewhere. Daigo is close and he doesn't feel safe.

He makes it up the stairs to the main house, carrying Iwasa all the way, before he collapses to his knees and passes out.


	10. Fifth Path: Right livelihood (Samma ajiva): Dororo Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Enuma on a dull day of rain that turns to sleet right as they enter town. Dororo is pleased that the rebuilding efforts to shore up the road make the traveling easier than when she left, but she notices that many roofs have not been repaired yet. Many families will probably have their possessions ruined in this weather.
> 
> There's not much she can do about that right now, though. Straw for thatching can't be harvested and cured until at least summer, and wooden slats or shingles are prohibitively expensive for just about everyone; she can't spend that much laborious extravagance on ordinary homes. Sometimes she is glad to have known poverty so intimately; she understands the value of things.
> 
> She still wishes the roofs were fixed, though.

"I think we're being followed." Oosuji's words cut through the darkness and cause Dororo to shiver involuntarily. Unconsciously, Dororo holds her breath a bit longer than necessary, feeling that even breathing would be too loud.

The horses are moving on dead grass and leaves, and the scouts she's with are known for stealth; she can barely hear anything if she attempts to listen. She can't hear pursuers, either. When she twists in her seat to look behind her, Kurakawa raps her smartly over the head with his knuckles. She gasps, but otherwise makes no sound.

They come to a clearing of elm trees with wide trunks and wider-spreading leaf cover; she can't even see the sky through the curtain of dead leaves that haven't fallen yet. It is there that Oosuji puts up her hand for a halt. Everyone stops at once, and Dororo sees it: a dozen or more pairs of glowing red eyes.

"Fox demons," Kurakawa mutters. "Fuck me." He reaches for his bow in a flash of movement and has an arrow nocked in seconds. When Dororo surveys the scouts on either side, she sees that their weapons are also at the ready. She wishes she had something to throw.

"Why are there demons--here?" Fox demons--like the ones at Banmon. Red instead of blue, but as her eyes adjust to the points of light generated by the foxes' eyes, she perceives the sharp point of a nose, the swish of a tail. 

She is far from home, and hadn't expected to see such a familiar monster.

"There are demons everywhere," Oosuji answers, sounding bored. "Usually the humans are worse."

Before Dororo can ask for anything--clarification, explanation, where to find a weapon--the light of the foxes' eyes goes out. She hears Kurakawa unleash an arrow next to her and draw another, but he hesitates before landing the second one; he can't see. Neither can she.

She attempts to roll from the horse to find some loose stones to throw, but Kurakawa holds her firmly in place, dropping an arrow in while holding her still. The fighting is eerily quiet, almost silent save for the swish of arrows and the distressed sounds of the horses.

One of the scouts holds light aloft: a torch made long-lasting by a coating of pitch. He must have used his kindling and flint to get it lit. Immediately, the eyes of the foxes brighten again, and the whole battle becomes a slaughter: arrows fly past her ear, over her head, narrowly missing the horse she's riding.

In seconds, the foxes retreat back into the cover of the trees. She feels Kurakawa take a deep breath behind her as he dismounts to retrieve arrows.

Oosuji puts herself at his shoulder, and he asks, "How many casualties?"

"Two wounded. No deaths."

"I see. Can the wounded travel?"

"Yes. Kurou needs his arm splinted--he fell off his horse."

"Clumsy." Oosuji taps his shoulder to hand him a fallen arrow. Kurakawa smiles at Oosuji as he takes it, and Dororo sees something like affection there. This, right here--this odd little band of scouts is a family, of sorts. There had been a similar rapport between Itachi and his men when she'd been kidnapped, but this is more like being with her father and mother and their band of farmers and merchants. It's an insular world where everyone knows each other--easy and familiar.

She feels out of place in this scene; this isn't her family and these aren't her people. They're Daigo's, and she's supposed to be on some kind of team or side with him, but she doesn't feel that way right now. She feels like an outsider looking in. A memory, something half-remembered, of Hyakki carrying her through the woods at night flits across her consciousness.

Oosuji nods, and they split off, Kurakawa looking for more arrows while Oosuji checks the status of the remaining scouts, most of whom are mounted up and ready to move. Ryouma is still on the horse of one of Oosuji's group, unharmed and half-asleep.

After retrieving all his arrows that aren't broken or warped, Kurakawa straps his bow back over his shoulder and remounts, pulling Dororo with him. "We're lucky it was just monsters this time, and not Asakura scouts," he says.  
  
"How could they be worse?" From her perspective, people can be talked to, argued and reasoned with; that sort of approach had never worked for her when it came to monsters.

"Well...monsters are straightforward. Honest. They are what they are. People are more complicated. They're why you're here, running from your alliance instead of making it."

She nods, and thinks that Hyakkimaru would probably agree. For all that the demons had torn his body apart, the decision to do such a thing was made by a human, and that decision had been honored and upheld by his own family. She remembers Itachi's vicious brutality in ordering her father hobbled; all but killed. His gloating when her mother had possessed nothing but her bare hands as a vessel to feed her starving daughter scalding hot gruel with.

Yes. People are worse than monsters. Or, they can be, at least. 

***

Aside from the occasional retreat into the trees to avoid scouts and raiding parties, traveling back to Kaga is uneventful. The scouts opt to take the longer way round to avoid the damaged bridge over the ravine even though Dororo asks that they not waste time. She is overruled because she isn't Daigo; she doesn't have the authority to make the scouts risk their lives.

The thought makes her feel that she doesn't belong again, but she knows that the scouts are right. If they fail to return to Enuma, there will be no reinforcements for the men on foot putting out fires in Asakura. It would be like abandoning Daigo and all his people to die. So even though she wants to get back faster, safety has to come first.

They arrive at Enuma on a dull day of rain that turns to sleet right as they enter town. Dororo is pleased that the rebuilding efforts to shore up the road make the traveling easier than when she left, but she notices that many roofs have not been repaired yet. Many families will probably have their possessions ruined in this weather.

There's not much she can do about that right now, though. Straw for thatching can't be harvested and cured until at least summer, and wooden slats or shingles are prohibitively expensive for just about everyone; she can't spend that much laborious extravagance on ordinary homes. Sometimes she is glad to have known poverty so intimately; she understands the value of things.

She still wishes the roofs were fixed, though.

She is brought to a holding area out of the rain: not much more than an outbuilding of the main palace complex. Of course, the palace hasn't been rebuilt yet. It's not huge, but it's dry, and there's a fire in the center that vents through a hole in the ceiling. Some of the cold chill of the rain comes through it as well, but it's hard to complain about a roof and a fire after the last hard week of travel.

Kurakawa allows her to wrap herself in a blanket and eat a bowl of thin stew before planting himself next to her, expectant, waiting. Ryouma sits across from her, absorbed in his own stew. There's a cut above his left eye from moving through the underbrush and his clothes are ruined. She probably looks about as woebegone as he does.

Kurakawa won't stop hovering.

"What?" she asks around her soup.

"You need to make Daigo's call for more men to go to Asakura," he prompts.

"Why me and not you?" She slurps her broth.

Kurakawa's eyes glare daggers. "Check your pack, child."

"My pack?" It's still on; has been on for practically all of the last week except for brief halts to sleep and feed the horses. She feels the strap marks chafe as she removes it and opens the top flap.

In among her dried jerky and rope is a pouch that looks very familiar. She lifts it out and traces the design, like the anchor to a ship, on the cover.

This is the pouch Hyakkimaru used to wear. The cord is new, but the pouch is old, so this may be the same one. "Why do I have this?"

"Daigo-sama passed it to you before we left. As long as you bear it, you will be given full consideration as his proxy."

"Wait, wait, wait--does that make me his heir, or something?"

"Of course not. It makes you an emissary. You are a messenger."

Ah. That's a good idea. Daigo must have known his people wouldn't be all that keen to go fight in the middle of winter on the orders of a little girl. "Can I at least finish my stew first?"

Kurakawa glares and says nothing.

Dororo eats, and a few minutes later Oosuji picks her way through the crowd to get to her and Kurakawa. "Lodgings are set for tonight," she says, voice low. "Resupply should take until noon tomorrow, or thereabouts. You should do rounds."

"I want to. The child hasn't made the announcement yet." Kurakawa looks pointedly at her. 

"I'm on it, I'm on it," Dororo says, waving one hand dismissively at them both. "Can't a girl eat?"

Oosuji bends down to her level. "Every moment you sit there and _eat_ without making the call to arms means one less moment for our soldiers and new reinforcements to prepare. It wastes time." She turns her attention to Kurakawa. "You do rounds. I'll take care of this."

Kurakawa shoots her a look that is half-grateful and half-exasperated, then leaves the outbuilding, presumably to check on the other scouts. Oosuji hauls her to her feet, and her tiny portion of remaining stew crashes to the floor. Ryouma, stunned by the sound, jumps to his feet and approaches, but Oosuji holds him back with one hand.

The scuffle gets the men surrounding them's attention, at least. Dororo clears her throat. "I, um. I'm Dororo, lord Daigo's messenger. Lord Daigo has ordered fifty reinforcements, half to be mounted archers, to Asakura's city of--"

"You're letting a filthy little street urchin speak for Daigo-sama?" Someone's voice cuts her off.

Oosuji lifts the pouch from Dororo's pack, revealing the seal. "Listen to what she says."

"Or?" The man approaches. Dororo notices that he lacks almost all of his teeth. He's probably too old to be a fighter. Maybe he's concerned for a son--or a grandson.

"'Or' nothing," Oosuji says. "Daigo-sama designated her as his messenger," she snaps.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe me," Dororo says. She draws herself to her full height. "Daigo-sama can't be here to give the orders himself because he's been captured. I'm here to get help to save him. We need fifty--"

"Yeah, yeah, we heard ya, little brat," the man says, spitting dangerously close to Dororo's foot. "How about you suck my c--"

He stops talking. Suddenly. Oosuji's knife is in his throat.

"Disrespect to the messenger is disrespect to Daigo-sama." Blood spatter marks her face. "You've heard the requirements. Spread the word. Willing volunteers that show up here by tomorrow's sunrise will be paid more than conscripts."

Oosuji spits on the face of the man she's killed. Dororo finds it hard to move, or even breathe, for a second: she is shocked. She's not shocked to have been disrespected--that's pretty much a daily occurrence--but to have been protected. Protected violently. She should be used to that, but it's not like Hyakki had gone around killing people that often. She's seen a lot of dead people, but never one that died because they'd disrespected her.

She feels responsible, somehow. She feels responsible for the warped and damaged roofs outside, too. She doesn't know what to do with the weight of such responsibility.

Ryouma pokes her shoulder with two fingers. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

***

She's not fine.

As she and Ryouma bed down for the night in one corner of the outbuilding, Dororo considers the corpse on the opposite side of the room. Oosuji had insisted on leaving him there--as a deterrent to others, she'd said. Dororo has to sleep in the same room with a toothless corpse.

Well. She probably has slept in worse places, but it's been a long time since then. She lays out a bedroll and pulls a threadbare blanket over her head and breathes; she knows she can't sleep like this.

The room quiets down around her as someone banks the fire and the men retire to bedrolls and futons at the edges of the space. Ryouma starts to snore, and it is then that Dororo hears it: a click-click-tap-tapping sound that is very familiar.

Biwamaru.

She opens her eyes to find him standing over the dead man. She crawls from her bedroll and walks over to him, as quietly as she can.

Biwamaru offers her a sad smile. "And who was this?"

"I don't know," she whispers. "One of Daigo's soldiers killed him for badmouthing me." She looks up at the wise old man. "Can you find out who he is? No one will tell me, and I want to do something--for him, or his family, or whatever."

Biwamaru nods. "I'll ask around tomorrow. I'm glad you're safe."

She sighs. "Yeah." Safe. She can't go to her rooms in Daigo's palace because there's a war on, so she's stuck in the trenches where she's always been. She doesn't feel safe at all, Oosuji's brutal defense of her honor or not.

"What's wrong?" Biwamaru asks softly.

Dororo chews her lower lip. There are a lot of things wrong, most of which she can't do anything about. They're not leaving for Asakura territory until later tomorrow. She wants activity; wants to do something before helplessness paralyzes her. 

"I want the roofs on the houses outside the palace to be fixed, but it's so expensive."

Biwamaru considers. "Do you have the money?"

"Yes."

"Then you should use it to repair the houses."

"But what if I run out? If I keep fixing everything after every disaster, I'll run out in no time." She starts muttering darkly to herself, mostly swear words she'd learned from her father.

"If you're concerned about that, find a way to make more money."

Of course. That's a great idea. "Trade," she says. "We need to trade. Not just with Asakura. All our neighbors. I'm eliminating trade borders. Food, medicine, clothes--everything essential should be able to pass in and out without being taxed."

"How will that earn you money?"

"I'll employ merchants to sell these goods inside Kaga, and I'll have them travel to spread the news. Goods will get a little cheaper, but the merchants will sell more. I'll have to invest a little, but I should at least break even." And give people greater access to much-needed essentials.

Biwamaru grins down at her. "Where did you learn about all this, Dororo?"

"My father." And Hyakkimaru, who had never needed money for anything in life, but who had taught her all about what people need to survive. Not everyone can live in the wilderness fighting monsters, but everyone needs food, clothing, shelter, and a reason to work together. 

"Find out who that man was," Dororo says to Biwamaru. "I've gotta wake up Ryouma and do a roof survey. I'm ordering materials to get them fixed tomorrow."


	11. Sixth Path: Right effort (Samma vayama): Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Hyakkimaru had known his encounter with the fire demon would give him a reputation as a monster-killer-for-hire, he might have reconsidered rescuing Iwasa. Briefly, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next got ahead of me a little bit, so expect the rest of this chapter to be posted in the next day or so. There will certainly be a lot of demon encounters in this one, including an old sort-of friend. Also an explanation for some of those darn fires. :) (Edit: Updates complete!)

Hyakkimaru comes back to himself with the taste of metal in his mouth and a splitting headache at the back of his skull. He blinks; there is film over his eyes; he is dehydrated. He tries to sit up and immediately feels a hand on his shoulder pushing him down.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Iwasa's voice. "Welcome back to the world. I thought we lost you there for a minute."

"I'm not that easy to kill." He tries to figure out the reason he'd passed out. Smoke inhalation, probably. Exhaustion also hadn't helped. "How long was I out?"

"Three days. We've been staying at Kaguya's." 

Something wet and cold touches his lips and partially spills over his uwagi. 

"Water," Iwasa says. "Drink it. You look parched."

He takes a few gulps, then pushes the cup away. Drinking too much too fast won't help him. "I am parched. And starving." Food is a better way to deliver water, in his current state.

"I sent Akiko to get you porridge."

He nods in thanks. "And Tarou?"

"His feet are getting better, but he's still not walking much. He mostly doles out that ointment you've got in your pack to the burn victims."

Burn victims? "Where are they?"

"Kaguya's keeping them in the basement." Iwasa snorts. "That prison looks a lot different with light and open cells and tons of people."

Hyakkimaru doesn't doubt it. It seems Kaguya is...decent, after all? Why had she imprisoned Daigo, then? He also remembers that Iwasa had said she was lying--about what? "Did you talk to her? Kaguya?"

Iwasa makes a face that is hard to read from this angle. "No," he admits. "I've been too...preoccupied with other things to make a scene."

Hyakkimaru just stares at him.

Iwasa frowns. "I didn't want to get us kicked out, okay?"

Hyakkimaru grins and puts his hands behind his head. "You were worried about me."

Iwasa rolls his eyes and punches him in the arm--not hard, but hard enough to make Hyakkimaru sit up. "You? Never. I was worried about the kids. My life's on the line if they bite it before you do."

Iwasa's smiling now, too. They understand each other. Hyakkimaru closes his eyes. "Where's that porridge?"

***

It takes him the better part of two days to feel more or less like his old self. He starts walking as soon as he finishes the gruel Akiko brings, but he doesn't get very far; he needs meat. Iwasa agrees to go hunting while Hyakkimaru does what he can to investigate Kaguya. They seem to be safe enough here, for the moment, but he doesn't intend to overstay their welcome...and he'd rather know if Kaguya is the one setting fires and staging attacks. This isn't the first time he's encountered someone that pretended to be a savior while robbing their people blind.

And just because Kaguya doesn't smell like a demon doesn't mean she can't act like one.

Tarou's recovery seems to operate in tandem with his; by the evening of the second day since waking up, he observes Tarou honest-to-god running up and down the steps from the basement hospital to the main floor, carrying food and bandages. He's proud of him.

Akiko, perhaps predictably, sticks near Hyakkimaru most of the time, seemingly spooked by the idea that he could die. She only leaves him alone for private needs and when Iwasa offers to teach her wrestling moves. From what he observes, Iwasa is at least competent in that area--and he knows how to teach her without harming her too much. 

Hyakkimaru is grateful to Iwasa. He'd promised to teach Akiko self-defense. As soon as his head stops spinning, he'll get right back to that.

He remembers the utter weakness and disorientation that had descended on him just after getting his hearing back; demonic birds had circled him and Dororo, attacking him, taking advantage of his weakness. He's vulnerable again, but safer now, somehow, and he's grateful.

Hyakkimaru watches as Akiko executes a perfect forward roll on her her first try, and Iwasa gives her a firm slap on the back. "We'll make a ninja of you yet."

***

Iwasa tires out Akiko so successfully that Hyakkimaru manages to sneak out of his room to spy on Kaguya without waking her from her sleep at the foot of his futon.

Iwasa had managed to bring down a doe for dinner; he and Iwasa had managed to skin it, and what they hadn't cooked fresh had been sliced into strips for smoking. They'll have food for a while, and the meal had done him good; he can walk in the dark without stumbling now, like he's used to.

He finds Kaguya on the main floor of the house in the public shared area nearest the kitchen. Scrolls and sheets of parchment litter the table around her; there's a stack of paper on the engawa stool next to her and a half-eaten bowl of rice placed precariously near a vellum sheet that looks like it may be a budget report--or a casualty report. Something with a lot of kanji numbers.

"Working late, Kaguya-sama?" he asks, figuring that if he's going to interrupt her, he may as well be polite.

She just about jumps out of her skin when he speaks, and her eyes fix on him in something like fear or suspicion. "Hyakkimaru-san. What are you doing here, in the middle of the night? You should be resting."

That's probably true, but Hyakkimaru hates rest and always has. Rest is vulnerability, weakness: staying in place had never been comfortable with him, even when he'd lived with Jukai--even if he's safer now than he's ever been before. "I never got to thank you properly for sheltering me, Iwasa and the children," he says. 

She waves her hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. It was the least I could do. Some of our doctors have taken samples of your burn ointment and are refining the recipe for themselves. It's surprisingly effective. You've given me more than enough by sharing that." Her eyes drift back to her papers, and there is a brief silence.

"That--isn't all," he says, and suddenly wishes he didn't have to have this conversation. What had Iwasa said? _I didn't want to get us kicked out, okay?_

"What is it?" Kaguya asks, but she's distracted.

"Iwasa-san seems to think you were lying about how the fire started."

Kaguya takes a deep breath and stares at the table. She doesn't look at him. "Why would he think that?"

"The fire wasn't set by Daigo's people or any familiar raiders. Iwasa-san suspects it was staged."

"It probably was," Kaguya agrees, "but not by me. Why in the Buddha's name would he think that _I_ was the one responsible for burning dozens of women and children?"

"I don't know," Hyakkimaru says, "why did you have Kagemitsu Daigo locked up?"

The two events are probably not related, but they might be. More to the point, he has good reason to believe that Kaguya is the one that authorized Daigo's capture and imprisonment. He has shakier evidence--none at all, really--linking her to the fire.

He wishes he could call the fire demon back and ask for an explanation.

Kaguya's shoulders tense. "How do you know that?" She meets his eyes, then grimaces. "You let him go," she says softly. "Why?"

He is not going to tell her who he is. It's bad enough that he had to tell Iwasa. "I saw a doctor and a sick old man in prison," he says, because that's honest even if it isn't the whole truth. "I considered it important to help them. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, aren't you a bleeding heart," she says with an undercurrent of bitter sarcasm. "First the burn victims, then--an old sick man, you said?" She shakes her head in what looks like exasperation. "Kagemitsu Daigo has killed more people than you can imagine. Letting him go connects you to that kind of murderer."

Hyakkimaru is already connected to Daigo, like it or not, and it's not like he can afford to be righteous about murder, either. "I won't let him kill anyone else if I can help it."

She stares at him, really stares, to the point where it's almost uncomfortable. He wonders if Dororo had ever stared at him like this, with focused intensity and fear. She probably had, but he'd never seen her; had never had eyes to perceive someone else's eyes trying to dig under his skin until now. Even Iwasa at his most curious had not given him such a barbed stare.

Some of Kaguya's hair comes down from her updo and spills over her face, and the slightly unkempt style makes her appear tired. He wonders how long she's been here, poring over documents, seeing to the administrative work of this village.

She's busy, obviously. But she's also well-placed for any form of espionage or sabotage that he--or Iwasa, more likely--could imagine.

"Since you're such a philanthropist," she says, trailing off as she lifts a piece of paper off of her stack and hands it to him. "According to this," Kaguya says, "something got into a neighboring village's grain silo and contaminated it, so in addition to their own fire damage, they've lost most of their winter stores. Can I count on you to deliver some rice from our village?"

"Why me?"

"I don't have many men to send, and all of them are needed here," she says. "If you're just passing through this place and truly want to help us in exchange for shelter, this could be as simple as a day trip. And I wouldn't need to send anyone here away from their families."

She has a point. "Would I be paid?"

"In rice, if that's acceptable."

He nods sharply. "Fine." He could use more food for his own winter stores. As soon as they leave this place, he'll be living out of his pack again. "I'll leave tomorrow."

***

Hyakkimaru intends to go on the rice delivery mission alone. He hadn't committed anyone else, and the thinks that both Iwasa and the children deserve a break after all the chaos lately.

It turns out that Iwasa and Akiko are both stir-crazy with cabin fever from Hyakkimaru's three-day brush with death, and with them wanting to go, Tarou refuses to be left behind. Hyakkimaru sighs as he lifts each child into a cart that holds the rice; he and Iwasa take the drivers' seats and guide the horses toward Azai, the village that needs them.

The journey is easy and almost uneventful; the only disturbing thing they encounter is the state of the road, and a few burned-out husks of buildings. The march of men on horseback, lots of them and recently, had made the road uneven and muddy, but the buildings are of greater concern. As they approach Azai, the burned buildings they encounter sometimes have tendrils of smoke emanating upward, indicating they'd been burned recently. The air is heavy with wood smoke.

Hyakkimaru and Iwasa look at one another, but don't say anything. They know they're headed in the same direction as the people starting fires. This may not be as simple as a day trip. Kaguya may have set them up for something. There are so many terrible possibilities.

One other thing strikes Hyakkimaru as odd as they travel: although the sun is up and there are townships between Kaguya's village and Azai, they don't see a single person on the road. The only animals he sees are crows picking through the burned ruins they pass for insects and rats. Even their presence is somewhat comforting. He glances in Iwasa's direction again, and is glad he's not alone out here.

Hyakkimaru catches a glimpse of thatched roofs through the gap in a low mountain pass: Azai, probably; it looks big enough. He points it out to Iwasa, then looks at the sun. It's a little past noon. He examines the horizon for smoke and sees none; perhaps they can catch the countryside arsonists before they destroy this town, too.

***

The rice silos hadn't been contaminated. They had been emptied--carved out so hollow that not even a single grain remains on the ground of any of the three silos he inspects.

When Hyakkimaru takes off the first load of rice from the cart, the man who accepts it is so rail-thin that he nearly drops the bag. Hyakkimaru helps him carry it into the silo. "What happened? Did you remove the tainted rice?"

Kaguya had said the rice was contaminated, but Iwasa seems to consider her a liar.

"Something like that," the man grunts has he helps Hyakkimaru and Iwasa unload the cart. Akiko and Tarou start playing tag in the street; ordinarily, Hyakkimaru would consider that somewhat dangerous, but there's almost no traffic, and all of it is foot traffic--there are no carts except for his that he sees.

He introduces himself to the man helping him in hopes of getting a name, but none is offered. He lacks the patience to be more polite than that, so he asks outright: "What happened here? Where is everyone?"

The man looks at the ground. Hyakkimaru swears he's encountered this guy somewhere before--his voice sounds familiar, and there's something recognizable about the way he moves. Maybe the man recognizes him, too, and that's why he hadn't offered a name. "I don't know what you mean. Azai has always been small."

Yeah. Three silos of rice small--enough to feed five or six hundred people for the winter season, probably. This is the center of town; there should be more people.

A gust of air kicks up dust from underneath him; he coughs, and the man helping him is so weak that he collapses to the dirt for a moment. Hyakkimaru insists that they take a break, and presses some of his fresh venison jerky into the man's hand. It pains him to part with it, but he can't have the man starve to death in front of him.

The man refuses the jerky as if it's poisoned. He drops it to the ground, and a tiny part of Hyakkimaru is enraged at the idea of anyone wasting anyone's food, much less wasting his.

But the man is obviously starving. Getting angry won't get him answers. "What's wrong?" Hyakkimaru asks again. "What happened here?"

The man doesn't answer, but he points. Hyakkimaru turns, and sees that he is indicating a grand building, perhaps the mansion of the local lord, or another government building. He asks Iwasa to continue unloading while he investigates the building.

More dust gets kicked up by the wind, into his face--and along with it, a sickening familiar smell, almost like blood.

A demon. A true demon--not like Mizuha, who had smelled like raw power; this one smells evil.

Well. Kaguya may not have known it, but she'd picked the right man for this job.

He loosens his swords as he enters the building, ready to draw at any moment. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the low light inside. The room is an administrative office; unlike Kaguya's impromptu kitchen space, this room has desks built into the walls and benches bolted to the wooden floor. All the papers seem to be stacked away and filed, except for a mess of parchment surrounding a man so fat he looks like he's swallowed five or six of Hyakkimaru whole.

It's...the fattest man he's seen in his life, by a considerable margin. Hyakkimaru counts four chins. His bone structure has disappeared under fat, and his belly is perfectly round; if Hyakkimaru could get him on his side, he could probably roll him down a hill.

At least he knows where the rice went, now.

The man glances at him dismissively, then freezes--he's been recognized. "You," the man--or demon--says. "What do you want with me?"

"I want you to return the rice you stole." If he hadn't eaten all of it already. Which is a possibility.

The man grins a shit-eating grin and stands up--quickly, considering his size. Something comes flying at Hyakkimaru's head; he dodges, but something impacts his leg and makes him fall. When he looks up, he sees that this building has a back door--and that it's swung open.

And the demon is off and away. Hyakkimaru pauses for a second to see what hit his leg: a shuriken. There is another embedded in the wall where his head would have been if he hadn't dodged; going down with his leg had spared him being hit by two others.

Hyakkimaru curses and chases after the demon, shuriken still embedded in his leg. Removing it now might make him bleed too much; he'll have to fight this one hurt.

He's done this before. He's perfectly calm. He tunes out all distractions, all noise except the smell and sounds of the demon. He can feel it more than he can see it, there, hiding in a bamboo thicket, waiting to ambush him. He draws his swords and leaps, impaling the demon full-through with his demon-killing sword.

He lets out a breath he'd been holding without realizing it. Then something hits him a glancing blow at the base of his skull; he turns and avoids most of the hit in time, and jumps up into the bamboo above him to see his assailant.

Is there more than one demon? No; impossible; he would have smelled--

Ah, wait. Yes. There is another one. How could he have been so careless?

From the shelter of the bamboo, he can see that the attacker had been the fat man, cured of his fat. It looks like the demon had detached his fat paunch as a decoy to lure him in, then hit him from behind.

If that's so, and they're the same demon, where is the other one that he can smell?

He blinks, and an enormous gray spider descends upon the rice-eating demon in a tangle of hairy, grasping limbs and shiny, sticky stuff that he assumes is concentrated spider thread. The spider demon binds the other demon, strings it up, brings it up to where Hyakkimaru hovers in the bamboo, bringing it level with his swords.

He glances between the spider and the rice-eating demon mutely, not understanding. But there is a demon to kill, and it is gift-wrapped for him. He stabs it through, feeling its blood cover him, feeling the demonic aura in the air spike and then fade.

He jumps down from the bamboo. The spider follows, dragging the mummified rice-eating demon and his strangely detached stomach. When the spider touches the ground, it transforms into a beautiful, if exhausted-looking, woman.

She nods in his direction. "Demon hunter," she says. "It's been a long time."

He squints. "Do I know you?"

She smiles bitterly and approaches, slow steps at a time. "Think. Hard."

He swallows a lump in his throat and puts the pieces together. 

He does remember encountering a spider demon, a year or so ago. At the time he hadn't been sure if she'd been a true demon or not; his senses had been scattered and hard to control for a while after the temple massacre. He remembers the man's voice in the village; the man that had helped him unload the cart. That is Yajiro--the man that had rescued miners from certain death, and who had escaped with the spider demon over the mountains. They must have come here.

That explains how he'd been recognized--and why he hadn't recognized Yajiro immediately. They may have met, but until today Hyakkimaru had never seen him before.

"I remember you," he says. She hadn't been a true demon after all, so he supposes it's good he hadn't succeeded in killing her the first time around. "Why did you--help me?"

She crosses her arms, and they are still spider-legs, though the rest of her body appears human. It is a bit unsettling, but it's hard for body horror to get to him anymore. "My husband is starving," she says, "and this peaceful village has been all but destroyed by that monster. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

He tilts his head up, a little confused. His leg gives way under him, shuriken still digging into flesh, and he looks up at her from the ground as he asks: "And what about you? Don't you--eat people?"

"I eat meat," she hisses, "which makes me not unlike you. It's not like I have to eat people to survive."

She's right to be upset with him; she's just helped him kill a far worse creature than she is. He supposes old habits die hard.

"So I suppose you're going to kill me now, then," she says.

He meets her eyes. "I didn't kill you last time."

"Yajiro-san protected me then. The little girl distracted you. There's nothing between you and me now. When we met, I knew you hated demons."

Does he hate demons? When he asks himself the question, an immediate answer like a shout of _Yes_ comes bubbling up out of his consciousness, but the feelings underneath that answer are more complicated than that. Demons had taken his body and possessed his brother. Demons had also saved, or spared, his life.

"I hate demons," he agrees, "but I don't hate you." He tries to stand and winces; maybe he'll stay here a little longer to wait for the injury to clot at the edges and go numb. "And if I killed you after you saved me, that would make me a pretty shitty person."

It's the first time he's used that expression; one of Dororo's, but it feels right to him. Less than a foot in front of him, the spider demon's pincer-legs turn back into hands, and she offers him a nod. "You've spared me, again. I won't forget it."

Hyakkimaru won't, either. Last time he'd encountered the spider woman, he'd been so mad and blind with grief that all he'd seen is a demon that got away. Even then, she hadn't really harmed him.

All this time, he could have known that not all demons were evil, if he'd just bothered to stop and pay attention.

He turns his attention to his injured leg, weighing the pros and cons of walking back to Azai before yanking the projectile and binding the wound, when he hears something moving through the trees.He holds his breath; he's not sure he can take on another demon right now.

But it's not a demon. "Akiko," he hisses. The spider-demon has vanished; he doesn't see her anywhere. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help you." She bites her lower lip and looks like she's about to cry.

"Where's Iwasa?" He's supposed to be protecting her, in Hyakkimaru's absence.

"I...sort of...lost him?" She appears guilty, but not at all sorry.

Hyakkimaru's lips twitch upward. "Do you know where Iwasa is now?"

She thinks for a moment, and nods. "I think so."

"Good. Bring him here."

"Why can't I stay with you?"

"I'm hurt," he says. "I can't walk." Well, maybe he can, but walking feels ill-advised at the moment.

Her eyes track between his face and his injured leg. She gives a shaky nod, then takes off running in the trees.

He lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, and the spider-demon descends, a spider again. "Take the weapon out of your leg," she hisses, and as he looks up at her and the web she's spinning, he understands what she has in mind.

He yanks out the shuriken and applies steady pressure to the injury. The spider-demon moves his hands out of the way with her front legs and clasps the leg by the calf, weaving tight sticky thread around his thigh. Tight enough to apply the right kind of pressure, and thick enough to keep the blood from coming completely through: a good bandage.

"Thank you," he says. "If you look in my pack, there should be some venison you can give Yajiro-san. He refused it before, but he might take it with that thing dead."

The spider-demon fixes his face with too many eyes. When she's done wrapping his leg, she turns back into a woman. "Demon hunter," she says. "I am Jorogumo. I am in your debt. If you need me, you know where to find me."

And she picks up his entire pack and starts walking back to town.

Typical.

He is able to support himself on the bandaged leg, so he starts walking, using trees for support, crawling occasionally. He hopes to run into Akiko and Iwasa before long.

He sees someone in front of him a ways and hails them; they're wearing a red kimono and appear small, so he thinks he may have caught up with Akiko. 

When she turns, he realizes his mistake.

Mizuha--if that's her name--maintains a five-foot distance between them, and points behind him, into the thicket where the rice-consuming monster's spider-wrapped corpse is still barely visible. "Is this what you plan to do, demon-slayer? Continue where you left off?"

"I wouldn't have killed it if it hadn't killed people and destroyed the stores."

"That was a Donburibara," Mizuha says. "A minor pest, hardly worth killing. I'm surprised you've never encountered one before."

"It didn't look minor to me. Go to Azai--the population's been decimated because of that thing." Even if all demons aren't bad, he still finds it very easy to justify killing some of them. 

She shrugs. "And you would kill me for allowing the fire to consume a village, I bet."

"No."

She appears...surprised. "No? Why?"

"Fires break out all the time. If you didn't set the fire intentionally then it was either someone else's fault, or an accident. If the stores had been ruined by rot or blight instead of a demon, I wouldn't have blamed a demon for the damage."

She stares at him in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. "You don't--hate demons."

"No." He...guesses that's true, now. He doesn't hate the spider demon, and he doesn't hate Mizuha. He doesn't hate all demons anymore, if he ever really did. It's an unmoored feeling, like losing part of his identity, but it's also somewhat refreshing; he doesn't have to repeat the same cycles over and over anymore.

"Then why do you kill so many?"

"I--" He blinks, and Mizuha vanishes, leaving a faint aura of smoke behind. When he stumbles forward to look for traces of where she might have gone, he finds none.

Then he hears Akiko's labored breathing and the cracking of sticks in the underbrush: help has arrived. "Iwasa is looking for Tarou," she says breathlessly. "He's gone missing."


	12. Sixth Path: Right Effort (Samma vayama) - Dororo Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So rebuilding a city and opening trade markets isn't as easy as Dororo thought it would be. She really should have seen that coming.
> 
> But when a neighboring lord pays what seems to be a friendly visit to see Daigo, Dororo's thieving instincts suggest the glimmerings of a plan. 
> 
> If it works...

So rebuilding a city and opening trade markets isn't as easy as Dororo thought it would be. She really should have seen that coming.

The first problem is that there isn't enough manpower to replace all the roofs at once. She had bought wooden slats that could be woven together with flat boards or straw: consequently, she has plenty of materials. But between Daigo's loss to Hyakkimaru, his recruitment of men for the Asakura negotiations, and Kurakawa and Oosuji's suborning of most of the remaining men, there's not much of a labor force left. The women and older children that are capable of doing the work also have other responsibilities: washing, cooking, treating injuries, harvesting and storing food. All that work is essential, and few can be spared for the roofs.

The second problem is that it's been raining for three straight days, and it's not even the rainy season. Dororo's purchased materials are placed under tents and tarps as they arrive, but those won't keep off the rain forever, and if they get too wet they'll warp before they can be used.

And the third problem is that another lord's been sighted on Daigo's border, with an army roughly double the size she can currently muster. She doesn't know who they are, but she assumes the worst. If she were a samurai lord that witnessed the collapse of power of a neighboring province, she would probably think to invade, too. Hell, it might not be so terrible if this samurai lord took charge; he might have resources that Daigo doesn't.

But she'd made a deal--several, in fact--with Daigo, and Kurakawa and Oosuji would commit seppuku before changing allegiances. Many of Daigo's people would. She doesn't like the--well, clannishness--of this kind of behavior, but she knows what will happen if the new lord invades and overwhelms Daigo's remaining people. She may not even survive. She wishes Hyakki was here.

***

It takes the border lord's force about a week to travel from the boundary that connects to the northeast road into Enuma. The scouts have been keeping track of their progress, and they haven't looted or burned anything on the way through the province, so Dororo has ordered them to pass unmolested. She knows nothing about this clan. For all she knows, they might want to be allies.

It's a long shot, but she's used to taking all the shots she can get.

Dororo goes out with Oosuji on horseback and Biwamaru on foot to check the movements of the border force and shore up their own defenses as they approach the city. The border clan force unfurls its banners as it comes nearer: four diamonds in a larger diamond shape. 

"What clan is that?" Dororo hisses. "Four diamonds inside a diamond?"

"Takeda," Biwamaru says.

"Friendly or unfriendly?"

"Neutral, for a long time," Biwamaru answers, "but we don't know why they're here. I would let Kurakawa and Oosuji handle this."

Oosuji nods sharply.

The border force stops at the gate. Thunder rolls in behind them: more rain, and Dororo groans internally at the thought of it. She watches Kurakawa ride out from the fortress bailey (mostly repaired thanks to her funds, if not her direct efforts) with his sword drawn. She can't hear what they say to one another, but she can see the general number of men that Takeda has brought: not more than fifty. That means he'd left most of his army behind at the border. If he's here to declare war, he would probably need a lot more...or so she tells herself, as a comfort of sorts.

Kurakawa does let the border lord in. Oosuji follows with stealth, and Biwamaru and Dororo lag further behind her; archers are posted at every post above the gate into Enuma.

If Takeda attacks, this won't end well for anyone.

The courtyard and streets connecting to it are all empty as she approaches Daigo's half-rebuilt living quarters: no merchants, no women, no children playing in the rain. It looks like every other ghost town she's ever seen, and she hopes that no more people will die here because of this visitor.

Dororo enters the main entrance hall, protected from overhead by more archers, just behind Oosuji; Biwamaru is at her shoulder. She finds the Takeda men spreading out on the floor, seemingly at ease in the space, and Dororo remembers Biwamaru had said that the Takeda clan have been neutral, mainly. Perhaps they really are friendly?

Biwamaru approaches the dias where Kurakawa sits a little below the lord's chair. The Takeda leader sits across from him, relatively close, as if they're about to play a game of shoji. Dororo doesn't sense any hostility or tenseness in either of their postures, and she approaches cautiously so that she can hear what they say to one another.

She's spotted as she approaches the dias, and someone lifts her into another chair, to Kurakawa's right: this indicates that she's higher-ranked than him. She's tempted to kick the retainer that lifts her, but she should probably not be _that_ undignified in front of company.

Yeesh. Ryouma's lectures must be getting to her.

With her seated, formal introductions begin; Kurakawa begins by introducing her with the Daigo surname, which shocks her for a moment before her mind catches up. She's a peasant, not a clan member; without her alliance with Daigo, she has no clout at all. Biwamaru would probably have been better suited to the role of Daigo's proxy (at least in looks), but Kurakawa and Oosuji have owned her role in events ever since Oosuji had killed the dissenter on Dororo's behalf. Their lot is cast with hers now, so it makes sense they'd put her in the spotlight.

After Kurakawa finishes introducing her and himself, the border lord speaks. "I am Takeda Nobutora, eldest son of the Takeda clan. My father is Takeda Mitsuhiro, and I speak on his behalf in this matter."

"And what matter might that be?" Dororo asks, remembering, for once, to be polite. She can't mess this up.

"I heard there was a new, progressive leader in Kaga," Takeda Nobutora says. "Someone more interested in trade than war, and more interested in building than destruction. Is that true?"

"No," Kurakawa answers for her. "Kagemitsu Daigo lives."

"He does?" Takeda's eyes widen. "I heard the fortress fell some months ago."

"It did," Kawakura answers, "but your news is stale. As you observe, the city has already made significant progress in rebuilding."

"And Kagemitsu Daigo-sama? Where is he?" Takeda asks.

"He is negotiating a trade agreement with the Asakura clan."

Takeda looks stunned. "Kagemitsu Daigo and Asakura Abuhide making nice? Did Daigo-sama fall on his head or something?"

"You will speak with respect," Oosuji says in a voice like iron. She's not on the dias, but she's standing in front of it, coiled tight as a spring. 

Kurakawa puts up a hand, requesting silence. "It is true that Kaga's policies have become more progressive since the fortress' destruction. Daigo-sama has appointed Dororo-sama as proxy in his absence, to take care of the rebuilding efforts and see to other matters."

Takeda eyes her up and down, and it is a slimy feeling: she feels uncommonly transparent to him, and she can't get a real read on him at all. Outwardly, he seems friendly, but she doesn't know what's going on behind his cold dead eyes. This is a powerful man that has killed a lot of people, and he would not have come to this place without a reason.

"This boy?" Takeda sniffs dismissively, and Dororo can feel Oosuji's boiling rage from across the room. "What is he? An illegitimate son?"

Dororo is in her scouting clothes and had not had time to change. This may be beneficial; her hair is long, but a lot of boys' hair grows just as long at her age. If he assumes she's male, so much the better.

She slaps her leg--a cheap way to get attention--and says, "Oi! It's no business of yours what I am to Daigo-sama. What matters here is that I am in charge. Whether you understand that or not is up to you. If you don't want to talk to me, I'll have you thrown out."

Takeda squints narrowly at her. "Interesting." 

In a flash so quick she almost doesn't see it, Takeda rises with his sword drawn; only her instincts at dodging monster claws and demon-possessed blades get her out of the way of the hit.

Then the room is in an uproar: Takeda's men rush to back him while Oosuji, Kawakura and her retainers in the hall push to blockade the intruders, prevent them from attacking Dororo again.

"HOLD!" Takeda bellows in a voice that shakes the room. "That was a test of Daigo-sama's proxy," he says. "He passes."

Kurakawa glares, and Oosuji steps forward with her own sword drawn. "Daigo will declare war on Takeda."

"Why?" Takeda looks amused. "No harm, no foul. Right, Dororo-sama?"

She pokes her head out slightly from behind Kurakawa. "You did try to kill me. I think that qualifies as harm, don't you, Takeda-san?"

"Kaga is unstable," Takeda says. "If Dororo-sama had failed to dodge my blade, I would have taken control of this place in the hopes of restoring stability to this province." He pauses. "Most grown men don't have your instincts or your speed; I applaud your combat instructors." 

Dororo does have some pride in her instincts. As a thief and accomplice demon hunter, she'd had plenty of time to hone her skills.

"If I pass your insane test," she says, "then you should leave Kaga and not return."

"Oh?" Takeda raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't lying when I said I'd heard about the policies of a progressive leader. My father has also become more progressive in his declining years, and sent me to observe the effects of these policies. Based on the rebuilding efforts and the security of the city so soon after a battle, I would say they are effective--more effective than endless war."

"What are you saying?" Dororo remembers to ask politely, but internally she is screaming: _Get to the point already so that I can throw you out!_

"I'm saying Takeda joins your alliance," he says. "If you'll have us."

***

Takeda Nobutora must have been sent by the gods or the Buddha or something. There's no other explanation for the largesse of benefits he provides: a trade network, thousands of horses and carts to go with it, goods, money, contacts, everything. It is all already in place: all they have to do is send the merchants Dororo has already been preparing into the merchandise stream, set up patrols on the road to enforce the new policy, and she's done.

On top of that, the day after Takeda's arrival, the rain goes and stays gone until the start of the rainy season. If Buddha didn't send him, Dororo wants to find out who did so she can bow in the dirt to that person.

After the main routes are plotted and agreed upon, Oosuji takes over patrols and needs no other help. Kawakura manages the accounts and administrative matters in Enuma, except for Dororo's pet projects like roof repair. As money starts accumulating, Dororo is also tasked with keeping track of it all--and while she's good with numbers, spending all day with them makes her head spin.

She tries to recruit Biwamaru to help her, but he's blind; he could count coins but it would be hard for him to keep track of them. So she recruits Ryouma, who is terrible at counting, but at least he can make neat piles for her.

The thing Biwamaru is best at is transferring secreted bags of funds to her stash on the cape. It's better that no one but the two of them knows about that, anyway, and she feels better knowing she has a discreet revenue stream, if she needs one.

All in all, setting up the trade network takes a little over a year.

In all that time, Daigo does not come back, but the retainers do not appear worried. War has not sparked with Asakura, as it would have if he were dead, and Oosuji's scouts stay updated on the Asakura force's movements. Whatever's going on diplomatically isn't violent--it's just taking a very long time.

As money starts rolling in in back-breaking amounts, Ryouma, and increasingly Biwamaru, start to bring up...ostentation. They think Dororo should show off her money more, both to discover more philanthropic projects and to assert her own power. (The Takeda clan still assumes she's male, and she's ordered her few in-the-know retainers to keep it that way.) That would mean getting fitted for a full suit of armor, buying a new sword to use, all new clothes, and she doesn't even know what all. Her experience with Nihiru had taught her that she doesn't even know how to hold a sword properly, much less wield one...and the only sword instructor she'd want is in the wind. 

Managing the trade network and the revenues suits her better, but it's not enough. There are still parts to it that she doesn't fully understand, and she stays up nights reading Daigo's enacted laws, his policies, his tax practices, trying to understand how the world she's grown up in is actually run.

She's reading maps of trade routes after dinner one night when Biwamaru appears at her shoulder, tracing the paper beneath her eyes with his hand. "What are you reading, Dororo?"

"It's a map of where Takeda's trade route ends," she says. "It looks like there's a harbor here, and I'm wondering if we could send goods other places beyond that point."

"Where, for example?"

"China, maybe. Korea. India. These maps aren't very good--some are old--but it looks like some ships go there now and again. I could build some, and they could go."

"For what purpose?"

She bites her lip and looks up at him. "You're blind," she says, "but you've traveled, haven't you?"

"The length and breadth of Japan, yes. Over oceans, no." He pauses. "A friend--the old doctor that saved Hyakkimaru--studied medicine in both China and India."

She nods enthusiastically. "Exactly! That's the point! There's plants and tools and stuff we don't know about in other places. Sometimes the world seems so goddamn big, and doing something like this makes me think it seems...smaller isn't right. More accessible? Easier to understand? And other places probably don't know about our stuff, either, so it's beneficial both ways for us to go there."

"Maybe," Biwamaru says. "You're forgetting that most people are afraid of change."

"All change?" She furrows her eyebrows. "Why?"

"War is change. Instability is change. Even this initial expansion of the trade network is change, and not all of Takeda's people went along with it, as you well know."

She does. For all the help Takeda and his agents have been, she still doesn't know if she can access that port, or a half-dozen smaller cities near the end of the western end of the trade route. They aren't hostile to the idea, not openly, but they haven't adopted the new policies yet and have kept the old taxes, even though everything is more expensive in those places than everywhere else. 

"Even if the change benefits them?" she asks.

"You'd have to convince them. And I'm sure others have lied to them before--telling them about some advantage before swindling them out of all they own."

Dororo frowns because he's not wrong. She'd done such things herself, as a petty thief, albeit never on a grand scale. Hell, she'd tricked some relatively honest buffoons out of their merchandise the day she'd met Hyakkimaru--and that act had ultimately cost them their lives. Just because she doesn't have to steal anymore doesn't mean she's not still a thief, at her core.

"I think if you want to get people to trust you, you need to appear trustworthy," Biwamaru says.

Right. That makes sense. Thieves know how to play a con. "How?"

"Get yourself suited in some proper samurai gear. Perform Daigo's ceremonial duties in his absence. Put on respectability as your mask. Some people still won't trust you, but more might be willing to if you simply look the part."

"Really? That will help?" 

"You often remind me that I am blind," he says gently. "The world reminds me every day that expectations are determined primarily by what people can see. Perception is nine-tenths of the law."

Dororo takes a deep breath, and summons Ryouma. She asks him to go to the armorer to get her a fitting the next day, and to find a seamstress to go to for the underclothes and padding.

She still can't really believe she's wasting money on spectacle, but other people are certainly not like her. All she can see is the benefits of expanding her--and Japan's--access to the world. The expansion might be messy, but life is messy, and this is something she wants, so she'll go along. Play nice with the world's expectations--at least until she achieves her goal.

Ryouma salutes--he's getting taller--and goes to take care of the arrangements.

***

Dororo goes to see the seamstress first, very early in the morning, and that's fortunate.

Dororo's gender is only open knowledge to a few people: Ryouma, Oosuji, Kurakawa, the few men that had witnessed her confrontation with the drunk guy--and even those men might dismiss the rumor of her being female as hearsay, given enough evidence to the contrary. When she goes out to bring in washing or buy manju and hears whispers of palace matters, no one ever speaks ill of her governance, and they rarely speak of her at all, so she assumes that her secret, for the most part, is safe.

So it is fortunate that she goes to the seamstress first, because the seamstress did not know, and if she'd gone to the armorer first it would have been a whole lot worse.

She enters the shop in her ordinary green hakama and uwagi, now so tattered and short that they scarcely fit. She had brought them as fitting samples for the seamstress, who looks at them aghast. She is young, younger than Dororo's mother when she'd died, and her face is round and kind. "Tono-sama, are you all right? What has happened to your garments?"

Oh, great. The super-polite people again. As a customer and Daigo's proxy, at least she doesn't have to bother to be polite back. "These are my oldest clothes," she says. "I wore them to assist with fitting the shoulders and the hips for my undergarments."

"Oh." The seamstress appears openly relieved. "Of course; I should have guessed that was the case, and please forgive my misunderstanding. Follow me, if you please, tono-sama."

Dororo follows her into a bright room with lots of lamps lit; the sun has not come up fully yet, and most of the windows are shut, perhaps for privacy. People bustle back and forth across the room carrying thread, bolts of cloth, levels and widgets for looms. Dororo is led to a corner with a folding screen that the seamstress erects and positions to give them some room to work, then she asks Dororo, ever so politely, to strip.

"Huh?" Dororo asks. "Come again?"

"I must take your measurements," the seamstress says with a gentle smile. "If we were fitting your outer clothes, your garments might stay on, but as we are fitting underclothes, it is customary for you to be naked."

Dororo blushes so red she feels heat from her ears to her feet. But she remembers what Biwamaru said, and she mumbles, "Fine."

The seamstress asks once again for confirmation, and when Dororo nods she gently assists with the removal of her uwagi. Dororo unties her hakama obi and shrugs out of the pleated pants herself.

When she stands up straight behind the screen, fully naked, the seamstress' eyes are huge and wet. She does not speak for a full minute. Then: "Dororo-sama," she says, going into a kowtow so low Dororo's afraid she might break something. "When Daigo-sama appointed a proxy, I had assumed...why are we fitting you for underthings and armor padding when you are not..."

Dororo takes pity on her. "...a man?" she finishes. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But you see, it's important that people think I'm a man."

The seamstress' expression loses some of its shock and becomes sad. "Why? Are you our lord's daughter, afraid of succession trouble? Is there some reason why..." Then she seems to realize she's questioning her feudal lord and shuts up.

"Daigo-sama selected me for this role," she says, trying to think of something reassuring to say. "He trusts me. And I appear more trustworthy to the outside world if I'm a man than if I'm a woman."

The seamstress' expression becomes hard, focused; she nods firmly. "Then by all means, tono-sama. May I approach to take measurements?"

Dororo nods. "Go ahead."

The seamstress approaches her, slowly, looking her up and down. "Your build is solid and your breasts are small. That's fortunate, for our purposes." She uses the polite register when speaking, but her tone is entirely matter-of-fact; this is a professional at work. She takes the measure of Dororo's shoulders, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to elbow, shoulder to wrist. 

Her hand hovers over a scar high on Dororo's shoulder; a scar she'd gotten when the cloud demon Nokaresegurumo had knocked her out. Her eyes track to another scar on her leg where Dororo had fallen from the cliff in the battle with the Nue. There are other, lighter scars, too, mostly on Dororo's feet and back from where she hadn't managed to evade Itachi and his goons fast enough. The tattoo of Dororo's treasure cave map is still carved into her flesh, too, though it should be all but invisible without heat.

"It seems you've fought a lot of battles, tono-sama," the seamstress says, reaching for a flexible measure at her side as she bends to take the measure of Dororo's waist and hips.

"I certainly have."

***

Ryouma meets her outside the seamstress' shop when she's done with the fitting. The seamstress had provided her a muslin set of close-fitting underclothes and padding for the visit to the armorer, in the hopes of not spreading her secret further...a consideration that Dororo appreciates, though the untreated fabric feels raw against her skin.

Ryouma salutes her and asks how it went, but she doesn't say anything. She hasn't been naked in front of another person for a long time. She hadn't expected it, and it's put her in a mood.

She and Ryouma walk down the street to the armorer's, and Ryouma tells her he'll wait for her outside, easy and comfortable, no honorifics required.

She appreciates that, too. If anyone else botchans or tono-samas her today, she's going to have an honest-to-god fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the old names for Japan, China, Korea and India. I used the modern ones here for the sake of clarity, in much the same way that Dororo's speech is made up-to-date in every version of this story. (Maybe she can see the future?)


	13. Seventh Path - Right mindfulness (Samma sati) - Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more than one way to destroy someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extreme warnings in this chapter: slavery, child abuse (including physical and sexual abuse), all of which I have attempted to keep mild and brief, and which I have added tags for. But it's there. I knew I was going to have to write something like this from the beginning, which is reason #2 for me fighting it so much at first. But it's important. I wouldn't write this in unless I needed it for all the characters' growth, development and the story. If this is triggery for you, I am sorry and you are warned. (This hurt me to write. A lot. The shock the characters experience feels real to me.)
> 
> (I also promise to try to fix this, insofar as something like this can be fixed...)

For the second time in two weeks, Hyakkimaru finds himself convalescing in a strange place thanks to demonic forces. This should feel familiar to him; he's spent his entire life recovering from the demons taking his body parts and fighting to get them back, after all.

But it's not familiar. Or, it's familiar in the same way nightmares are: something unreal based on lived experience, of himself or someone else.

By luck or by skill, the Donburibara's shuriken had nicked his femoral artery. If he had not done as he had done--put on as much pressure as possible immediately--he would have bled out before Iwasa found him. Running and fighting had not helped his condition any. If the shuriken had gotten pushed in a hair's breadth deeper, the artery might have been cut through, and he would not have been able to save himself even with immediate stitches.

By the time Iwasa picks him up piggyback-style to lug him back to Azai, he's only half-conscious, but he has the presence of mind to say, as clearly and distinctly as he can: "Tarou."

"I hear you. Let me take care of it."

This is the first time in his life that Hyakkimaru has ever had to delegate any important task to anyone else. Just before he passes out, he sincerely hopes Iwasa doesn't screw it up.

***

Iwasa doesn't screw it up--or, not completely, and not any more than Hyakkimaru would have. Hyakkimaru spends the next few days in and out of consciousness, drinking everything offered because he knows his needs it, staring in confused fascination at his bloodless shaking shock-riddled hands when he is conscious. His old kimono had been thrown out--too much blood to get out, Iwasa told him, more than once, and he has the idea that people are repeating a lot of things to him recently--and replaced with something coarse, new and itchy.

That much blood loss...He had almost died. That realization comes to him in pieces; he is spared the brunt of it in his addled state. Severally, he understands that a weak demon had gotten a lucky break and almost killed him. That's happened plenty of times before, but it's not like he'd expected to find a demon here. His mind supplies the words, _Ambush. Distraction_.

Another part of his mind, oddly dissociated, supplies, _Distracting you? Why?_

And that first, more rational part of himself: _No one knows I'm here_. He's used to being hunted, being paranoid, but Asakura is different. There are demons here, but none are after him, specifically. Mizuha had proved that--hadn't she? 

In his brief moments of wakefulness, he sees Akiko at the foot of his bed. Iwasa is sometimes there but his words are a jumble; Hyakkimaru does not see Tarou, but some of Iwasa's words are his name so he figures Iwasa must still be looking, or maybe Tarou had been hurt and is recovering somewhere else.

It's five days before he understands that Iwasa knows where Tarou is, but can't retrieve him without significant help. When Hyakkimaru is able to understand that much, he nods and feels something like relief because he'd given Iwasa a task and he'd completed it, even without the threat of Hyakkimaru's swords. He has trusted Iwasa these past months, more than he likes sometimes, but it hasn't come back to bite him yet.

Then Iwasa tells him where Tarou is, and his mind confirms that terrible awful word: _ambush._

It had, indeed, been an ambush of sorts, because the Donburibara had apparently not been working alone. While Hyakkimaru had stalked the monster through the woods, Iwasa had noticed an unusually well-fed woman walking alone carrying what appeared to be a grain basket, and he had followed her, straight to the silos. Outside one of them, a small--Iwasa reassures him that it was small--number of armed men with a mercenary look had accepted the grain from the woman, given her a small sack of flour as payment, and taken the grain out of the silo to some wagons, waiting and ready to leave.

From this, Iwasa had deduced that the town was making food, and that the food wasn't blighted; he had guessed that this was a pirate or mercenary operation, and again, he hadn't been entirely wrong.

What he hadn't noticed until too late was that grain was not the only thing these mercenaries bought and sold.

"I'm getting to be too much like you," he says, pointing to a newly healed cut on his forehead. "Damn bastards nicked me, got blood in my eyes, so I sent Akiko to get you. Tarou was at our wagon. When I killed a couple of their guys, they chased me and torched our wagon. A couple others, too, 'cause they couldn't be sure which was ours." He sighs. "It'll be a long walk back to Kaguya's."

"Was Tarou inside when they torched the wagon." It's not a question; Hyakkimaru knows something terrible has happened, or Iwasa would have gotten straight to the point instead of avoiding the issue as he's been doing.

"No," Iwasa says. "They picked it dry first--got all the rice out. 

"I think they took Tarou, too." Iwasa stares at his feet. "I didn't notice until they were running, but they had a lot of captives wearing chains. They were slavers."

Hyakkimaru doesn't scream often. He wants to scream now.

"You can have my head if you want it," Iwasa says. "When you can walk again."

"I don't want your head." He doesn't say more, but his breathing feels rough, uneven, like hyperventilation coming on. It is not Iwasa's fault Tarou was taken, any more than it was his fault that Mio's temple burned down.   
The look in Iwasa's eyes is like guilt, though, and Hyakkimaru acknowledges it as such. "You're coming with me to save him." 

So much for this being a simple mission.

***

The terrible shock of Hyakkimaru's nightmares coming home to roost--one of his kids (well, kids under his protection) sold into slavery, taken off, stolen, hurts him worse than the blood loss does, but he is helpless to go after Tarou until he recovers, and what Iwasa tells him about the situation is not encouraging.

From what Iwasa has managed to discover, this group of slavers wears no banner, but is under the protection of a border lord from Kaga that smuggles goods, including labor, illegally over the Asakura border. He suspects he knows the lord, too.

"Is it Daigo?" Hyakkimaru asks in a dull tone, because that is where his mind always goes first when he thinks of Kaga, and he is beginning to regret his decision to let him live. 

"Daigo's not a border lord, idiot. No, this is someone I used to serve under, and he's a nasty piece of work. I don't know if we can wipe out the slavers without him coming after us, but I also know there's no talking out you of it, so..."

Damn right. Impossible odds are his forte.

The only good thing about all of this bad news, from Hyakkimaru's perspective, is that the shock of it all manages to clear his head, tell him where he is, how long he's been out of it. He's at Yajiro and the spider woman's house, since they had offered to take him in when he'd been hurt, and Iwasa, not knowing their history, hadn't looked a gift horse in the mouth. Hyakkimaru has vague memories of a face, perhaps a woman's, coming in to check on him, but he hasn't seen Yajiro pass by even once.

Maybe he should have run after Tarou when Akiko had first told him he'd gone missing: leg be damned, if he'd been fast enough, he may not have bled out before he'd managed to save him, somehow. It's a suicidal and self-sacrificial thought, but it's his body and he should be able to choose the hill he dies on. Even now he wants to run, but the thought makes his leg throb; blood gathers around the stitches and leaks into his bandages.

Injury when he'd had only himself to worry about had felt different. Dororo collapsing helpless and him without Jukai's diagnostic capabilities had felt different, too, though they're all forms of helplessness--but with someone else there is the risk that god or inattention or whatever rules people's lives will snuff it out without warning. He realizes that the only reason he has worried about himself in months--years?--is in the context of caring for someone else, and wonders when he gave himself so much agency over other people's lives.

He remembers, when he'd first met the boy, wishing that Tarou's life would be long and boring. He's lost at least one of those possibilities, and he's angry at himself because Jukai would have done better. He's capable of better. He has to be.

It takes more than a full week before Hyakkimaru can do more than hobble to his own two feet and relieve himself. As soon as he can sit up and maintain consciousness for more than an hour, he and Iwasa start making a plan. Well, two plans: the first to rescue Tarou and the other slaves with stealth, which is what Hyakkimaru would prefer, and a contingency with options. He is glad to talk with someone else intelligent and goal-focused, and starts to hope that they can save Tarou before anything too awful happens to him.

On the sixth day since waking up, Iwasa comes to him with more bad news.

"They're moving the slaves," Iwasa says. "Tomorrow night."

"How do you know?"

Iwasa sighs. "I told you I used to work for this guy. I pulled in some favors with some guys I still know, and they sent me a message."

Hyakkimaru's leg throbs. "So. Tonight, then." For the moment, he chooses not to probe why Iwasa had served a person that trafficked in slaves and stolen goods. He intends to ask--Iwasa's expression indicates that he is surprised he hadn't asked already--but now isn't the time. The task ahead of him needs all his focus.

Iwasa nods firmly. "Tonight."

***

Hyakkimaru can't sleep. That makes sense; he's been sleeping for days on end. The whirring of the crickets and harsh winter wind are the only sounds he hears, and they should be encouraging him to rest, but he can't.

He sees a shadow in the doorway and sits up. "Is it time?"

"It's me." The spider-demon's voice. She is not carrying a light; she must be able to see in the dark. "Iwasa is getting ready. He sent me to fix your bandage in place. Sit up."

Hyakkimaru complies and the deep cut into his thigh sings with pain. He ignores it.

The spider demon sits next to him, extends hands that transform into ticklish feelers toward his wound. "You're going after these slavemasters," Jorogumo says. "Why?"

"They have someone important to me." He doesn't understand the concept of slavery, himself, unless the person buying people doesn't actually value people. He understands that there are people like that, plenty of them, but he's not one of them. 

"You might die."

He smiles. "That's true every day."

"Without my first bandage, you would have died. Without my help these past days, you would have died. Why would you waste my sacrifice?"

He blinks at her because he'd had no idea she would take this encounter so personally, so much like a human would. "It's not a waste if I save someone else."

"I see." Her eyes glow red, and Hyakkimaru's heart begins to race. "Hold very still. This will probably hurt."

Then she rips the bandage off, extends her feelers and places them directly into the wound. It hurts; he cries out but there is another feeler over his mouth to block sound, and he wonders if this is how he dies.

***

Ten minutes later he's standing, the ache in his leg reduced to a dull throb, his head clear if a bit achy. Jorogumo had given him blood--blood harvested from animals and people; blood that she used to stay alive. His main consolation is that it's not actually a demon's blood running through him, because all of her blood comes from people--or animals, now. The fact that it's recycled does not bother him; his father had used bone needles from China to inject medicine beneath the skin, and he knew blood might be delivered that way, as well.

When she'd finished and let go of him, he had bitten out, "You should have warned me."

"You would have said no." She had shrugged, reverting to her human shape, appearing pale. "I need a snack. See my husband on your way out."

She'd left the room. The wound on Hyakkimaru's leg is now stitched shut with spider thread and has the look of old scar tissue. "Demon magic," he spits, but he doesn't feel different than his usual self. He should probably be grateful.

He is not used to feeling gratitude toward demons, and she doesn't seem the sort to accept them anyway, so he focuses on the task at hand: saving Tarou.

He steps into the hall and sees a light coming from an interior room. He follows it, and finds Yajiro and Iwasa sitting at a rough wooden table, peering at the map that Iwasa and Hyakkimaru had marked up during their strategy meetings. 

Iwasa's eyes track his movement, and he does a double take. "Welcome back to the world," he says. "You're walking great. How do you feel?"

Eighty percent. Maybe eighty-five. His leg is still damaged and sprinting is beyond him. But he's better than he thought he'd be. "I'm fine."

He takes the chair opposite Iwasa and finalizes the details of their placement. He looks at Yajiro. "Are you coming with us?"

"Afraid not," he says.

"This house has a hidden basement for storage," Iwasa says. "We can keep the freed slaves there until we can get them moved off safely. It's a risk he's taking, doing that, and he won't be able to if he dies taking on the slavers."

Hyakkimaru nods; that makes sense. Iwasa is good at logistics. He would probably have tried to guard all the freed slaves until he passed out, and that's not a good long-term strategy. "And Akiko?"

"Staying here for the time being. She's asleep now, but she was up a little while ago begging to come."

"My wife's looking after her," Yajiro adds.

Hyakkimaru nods again, takes note of his gun propped by the door, and stands. "Let's go, then."

Iwasa grabs his own gun and heads out. Hyakkimaru is about to do the same when Yajiro plucks at the sleeve of his scratchy new kimono.

"I think I misjudged you," Yajiro says.

Hyakkimaru frowns in confusion. "Did you?"

"When we met, you had that wild little girl with you, and you seemed pretty wild and out of it, yourself. Determined to kill the monster at all costs. I thought you were--"

"--crazy?" Hyakkimaru supplies. That would explain why he'd pretended not to know Hyakkimaru earlier.

He shakes his head. "Well, maybe, but...it's more like naive. Immature. Idealistic. A little like me." He offers a rueful smile. "But you've either changed, or you've always known how bad it is, and it just doesn't stop you."

"Stop me from what?"

"Doing the right thing."

"Is that what I'm doing?" The question sounds rhetorical, but it isn't entirely. He knows that value systems between people don't match, and with his life's main quest complete he is unsure of his direction.

Yajiro looks him square in the face and says, "What you're doing right now? Yes. I'm sure of it."

***

The stealthy plan almost works, it really does. 

The first part goes off without a hitch; Iwasa frees the mercenaries' horses from their pen, causing a whole slew of men in armor to go scattering from their posts in search of them. The few guards that remain are around a contingent of wagons and a huge iron cage that looks like it was fashioned out of rusted farm equipment and old poor-quality swords. The officers' tents and cooking fires are also manned, but they're far enough away from the wagons and cage that the men there shouldn't be able to react very quickly.

As for the cage itself: One guard at each corner; one patrolling up and down and left and right on each side; two additional men at the gate; ten total, all armed with spears, some armed with bows. The cage is set up in open space so there's no cover, but Iwasa had managed to get a helmet, bracer and crest that identifies himself as one of them. The plan had been to use those credentials, plus those of a man Hyakkimaru knocked out and stole from in the confusion with the horses, to convince the guards that the slaves were being moved early. After that, Hyakkimaru and Iwasa could "escort" the slaves to their next location, per their lord's requirements.

A lot would depend on timing. If the real lord's orders intercepted theirs, they would be in trouble.

Hyakkimaru helps himself to a mercenary guard's helmet and badge after descending on him from the trees. He opts to knock him out cold and tie him up because he has the time, and because Iwasa had cautioned him that turning this into a bloodbath wouldn't work out well for anyone.

"Only kill if they're gunning for you," he says. "Killing neat and sneaky is your style, and I get it, but this will go a whole lot smoother if we don't have to kill anyone."

Privately, Hyakkimaru thinks that most of the slavers likely deserve to die. But he doesn't know for sure about this guard and his life definitely isn't threatened, so he does like Iwasa says and leaves him there.

He meets Iwasa at the rendezvous point just outside of camp. They enter together, use the salute that is customary for this mercenary band, and take control of the slaves: in a stroke of luck, orders from the lord had already come down that they be moved, and the guards at the gate of the cage seem relieved and a little surprised that the transfer is happening so fast.

They make it back to Yajiro's without problems and start striking off chains, and Hyakkimaru is cheerful. Freeing slaves is easier than he'd thought it would be. It is still the dead of night, so Hyakkimaru fetches a torch to search for Tarou. There are perhaps fifty people total, mostly men and women of young to middle age, clearly selected for their ability to work farms and till fields. But there are no children.

Iwasa finds him searching and asks, "He's not here?"

Hyakkimaru shakes his head. Had he died? Or been sold already? No: focus. Hyakkimaru asks an older woman with few teeth if there had been a boy in the cage with the other slaves recently.

"The pretty boy with the bad feet?" the old woman spits in response to his description. "The head honcho took a liking to the cute little thing. He's probably in his tent somewhere."

The bottom falls out of Hyakkimaru's stomach, and his eyes meet Iwasa's. 

"I see," Iwasa says casually. "Will you kill him, or shall I?"

***

Running back to the mercenary camp, just the two of them, doesn't take long. Iwasa is carrying his rifle, powder and shot, but Hyakkimaru had elected to travel light, swords only, and Iwasa huffs and puffs to keep up.

Their credentials and salute get them past the camp perimeter again, and Hyakkimaru looks for the biggest tent as a place to start looking. It takes all of his willpower not to run. Running would look suspicious.

The arrive outside the commander's tent, and Iwasa gives some convenient pretext about reporting that orders had been completed and that they had to report before turning in. The sleepy-looking guards let them pass.

They enter the tent and go in, and Hyakkimaru nearly drops the torch he's holding.

Tarou is there, all right: all four limbs staked to the floor, naked, facedown, and writhing. His feet are pointed towards Hyakkimaru, and he sees that his feet, left untreated, have oozed and bled out through white caked flesh. His legs are striped with whip marks, and there's a man on top of him, thrusting into him, pushing his face into the ground so hard it's probably suffocating him.

For a brief moment, Hyakkimaru is frozen. He had expected many things, but he hadn't expected to interrupt--this.

For his part, Iwasa betrays no reaction. Iwasa had described this monster as "a real piece of work;" had he known--?

Then Hyakkimaru moves, because the opportunity's never going to be better. His first sword strike cuts a neat line across the commander's chest from shoulder to navel; it has the effect of pushing him backward, off of Tarou, while allowing Hyakkimaru to stand guard in position over his staked and helpless body.

The spray of blood is impressive, and the commander grunts as he's dislodged, but like every good samurai his weapon is easy to hand even when naked; when Hyakkimaru comes in for a cross-cut, it is blocked by a spear. The butt of the spear comes up to land a glancing blow at his mouth as he ducks; Iwasa's blade fills the space above him, the ring of steel on steel.

"You!" The commander's eyes widen as he recognizes Iwasa. "You're dead!"

"I am Takeda's mononoke," Iwasa says in an eerie voice. "Death can't stop me." He flicks his sword up and over the man's head and lands a hard blow to the back of his skull. The commander goes down with blood dripping from his naked chest, and Iwasa looks at Hyakkimaru.

"You untie Tarou, I'll take care of the ones outside," Iwasa says.

Hyakkimaru nods and crouches to Tarou's level. He puts his hand on his shoulder to shake him a little and feels him shivering from head to toe. "Tarou," he says. "It's me. Hyakkimaru. Me and Iwasa came to rescue you."

No response.

He cuts the ropes binding Tarou to the stakes and flips him over. Tarou's eyes and mouth are wide and open, but he makes no sound; his eyes are locked in place on some nameless horror that only he can see.

Hyakkimaru rubs his arms to get some warmth back into them and rips a blanket out of the commander's bedroll to cover him with. Then he notices the commander stirring; still barely alive.

He holds up his sword to deliver the finishing blow when Iwasa returns and sees what he's doing.

"Tarou should kill him," Iwasa says. "It will avenge his soul."

Under his blank facade, Iwasa still has the power to feel horror after all.

But would killing this man restore something inside Tarou? "No," Hyakkimaru says, because he hadn't agreed to protect these children to only to make them into murderers in his own image. Jukai wouldn't want this. Jukai had not wanted to send him into the world alone, either, but if he had not Jukai would have died, along with helpless patients. There are necessary evils in the world.

He holds the sword over the commander's naked body, hesitating, and his eyes open. Hyakkimaru sees a flash of red in them: like the coals of a stirring fire.

"This is not a human." Hyakkimaru spits blood out of its mouth and takes a guard stance in front of Tarou. "It's demon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot. She is so thick, you guys. (Brief author nitpicking the anime vs. the source material: this is my way of building some of the talking demons from manga canon into the anime. Because Hyakkimaru talking to the leader of the Hall of Hell demons was pretty badass.)
> 
> For the curious: yes, slavery did exist in the Sengoku period, but most people of Hyakkimaru's social strata and above considered it passe and it was already on its way out. And if slavery hadn't been an option here, forced labor certainly would have. Dororo hasn't taken a hard look at where her labor comes from yet, but she will.


	14. Seventh Path - Right mindfulness (Samma sati) - Dororo Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It appears that Dororo-sama collapsed while meeting us. Fearing for the lord's health, we took refuge from the rain in the nearest available structure." Takeda wrinkles his nose. "Though I suppose this place has seen better days." He gestures pompously around himself. "I sent your friend to bring your little pets here, but I doubt they'll be in time."
> 
> In time? "In time for what?"
> 
> Takeda points to the hole in the ceiling of the Hall of Hell. 
> 
> When she squints at it, she sees a reddish purple glow, the sky reddening as if it were dawn, but it can't be; she hasn't been unconscious long enough.
> 
> A fire? In this rain? Now?
> 
> "How--" She's speechless. This is not physically possible. Setting a fire and expecting it to spread in this weather was crazy; it had to be. "I knew you were setting the fires already." Dororo's stomach turns over. "If you're here, who's setting the fire now? Who's doing it? Who did you put up to it?" Dororo had thought to find Takeda with a supply of kindling and oil, maybe, but none of that is in the hall. Even firewood seems pretty sparse.
> 
> "Did you think Daigo had a monopoly on using demons?" He laughs.

Dororo begins to suspect Takeda is up to something when the fires start up again.

The first new fire comes as a complete surprise to seemingly everyone: a huge field of silos to the east of Enuma goes up in smoke. It's trending toward summer then: not impossible for a wildfire to have started it, to be sure, but Dororo had never seen devastation on such a scale, the entire field burned black as soot, all the fences gone. Even a few of the neighboring houses and sheds had caught fire, though none of them had been destroyed.

The second fire comes a week later, almost as bad, and Dororo has to send Biwamaru to retrieve funds from her stores to repair the damage. Worse than that, though--if harvested crops keep getting burned, everyone in the town will starve over winter.

The third fire doesn't hit Kaga, but its main shipping partner in Takeda territory. Dororo visits the site, a four-day journey by horseback, and realizes that the damage and scale of the fires she has seen have been fairly uniform.

Three devastating fires in wildfire season could be a coincidence, but they all look like the same fire to her: huge, black, targeting food stores. She decides that someone is probably setting them to make Kaga starve.

But who? Not her people (or rather, Daigo's): they and their families all live in Enuma, and Osuji would give her right tit, and Kurakawa his right arm, before betraying the trust they'd been given. Still. Everyone has a price. Had someone gotten to her people? It's her first instinct because it's a situation she's familiar with; Itachi and a handful of other mercenary bandits had deposed her father. So she starts employing spies.

Ninja make excellent spies, and she takes on a few ronin as well. They don't like working well together, but they agree to pass messages to Dororo through the seamstress Dororo had met, a woman named Hirako Tsuki. 

Three weeks of surveiling her most trusted people produces the expected result: all seem loyal, haven't sent any strange messages or deviated much from their routine duties, with the exception of assisting workers repair the roofs--not part of the orders she'd given, but it's understandable that they'd want to look over the work to ensure it met her satisfaction when it was done.

That's something she should be tending to herself, but building a trade network and forming relationships with suppliers and merchants had been eating up all her time. When she hears that both Oosuji and Kurakawa regularly visit the building site to coordinate staging areas and balance the work teams, she is relieved that they've been taking care of that for her, too. 

And--so her spies tell her--they buy slaves.

When she learns this, she is initially stunned, because she didn't think Kaga did that anymore. She knows that slavery exists; she and her mother had encountered runaway slaves and slave caravans on their travels. But she hadn't thought to purchase any, and hadn't realized that Kaga's greatly expanded open market trafficked in slaves.

_Clumsy,_ she says to herself._ Naive._ Then she calls a meeting with Oosuji and Kurakawa privately, to talk about what slavery in Kaga means. She'd like to end it overnight, but she's not sure that's possible anymore.

Oosuji arrives first, her hands tainted black from fire cleanup; she looks more harried than her usual self. She salutes Dororo and Dororo acknowledges her, more politely than she has in the past; she's been learning. She repeats the same procedure with Kurakawa and opens the meeting.

"I...have a confession to make," she begins awkwardly. "I've had people...following you both."

Oosuji settles into a grim frown. "Following? As in watching? Spying?"

"Um, yes."

"We know," Kurakawa says dismissively. He looks to Oosuji for confirmation, and she nods.

"Huh? You knew? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I assumed you were shadowing a number of people close to you to determine the source of the ongoing fires."

Dororo goes fishmouthed for a moment. Then she asks, "How--why would you assume that?"

He shrugs. "It's what Daigo-sama would have done. Reports from the field indicate that he and his cohort are tracking the fires to their source."

Ah. Kurakawa had assumed she'd been acting on orders from Daigo. That's convenient, if incorrect. "Be that as it may," she says, and her formal tone makes her feel scratchy and stuffy and old, but it's what's expected, "I've discovered that we're buying slaves from the trade market."

Both Kurakawa and Oosuji appear puzzled at this change in topic. "Your shadows revealed this to me," she says by way of explanation. "I hadn't been aware of this, and I want it to stop."

Kurakawa gives her a disappointed look. "You want the roofs rebuilt. You want fields planted and harvested. You want Daigo's palace rebuilt. You want to repair the damage the fires cause. You want people to travel for trade. You want to defend the borders. All well and good, but it requires men to do these things, not just money. We have no men to spare here, so we buy them elsewhere."

Oosuji nods to back him up, then says, "If we do not buy men, our labor force shrinks by a third, Dororo-sama."

A third--so many! "Uh," she manages, "do I--have the authority to free these slaves?"

Oosuji gasps, but Kurakawa considers. "No," he says. "The order would not be obeyed. If it were forced, it would cause rioting. People would turn on each other. You cannot free them--but you can buy their freedom. Some may be grateful enough to work for you, but I expect most will not. It's best to leave things as they are."

Dororo gulps. Her gut instinct had been right. This is not a problem she can solve overnight.

***

Dororo had not set spies solely on her own people, but on Takeda, the main players in the Asakura clan nearest the Kaga border, and her four largest trading partners. It's a good thing she has her own money to use, or she'd be short on funds for Enuma's projects in no time.

As reports come in, she is able to eliminate every suspect except two: one a distant trading partner that is somewhat hostile to her expanding network of connected trade cities, and Takeda Nobutora himself. Both Takeda and the trading partner, the Tskushima clan, had been placed well to set the first and second fires: negotiations for the Tskushima expansion of the trade network have been held here, in Enuma, though Dororo has not met their representative in person. Takeda has taken care of all of it.

She is somewhat perturbed by the idea that the Tskushima clan would torch their own outpost--that's the site of third fire, and it's a detail that doesn't seem to fit. Takeda could be the one responsible for all the fires, but she suspects it's not that simple. She's missing something here--her thieving instincts are giving her warnings, but she doesn't know how to interpret them properly.

The fourth fire strikes during her investigation: on the very border of Kaga, a nameless village that had been building itself up since the war ended burned to the ground, no survivors evident; by far the worst fire yet. By some coincidence, Takeda and his escort had been passing just that way the night the fire must have broken out. She identifies the pattern easily; she is the one that manages the accounts and makes suggestions to expand the trade route, and the fires are hitting all her vulnerable points. It feels like Takeda is messing with her, and she hates it.

Takeda is not due back in Kaga until some weeks later, and during that time, Dororo has him consistently and thoroughly watched: all the spies she'd called back from surveying her own people get attached to Takeda, taking watch over him in shifts of two.

There are no new fires during this time of enhanced surveillance, and Dororo crows triumphantly, at least internally. As long as there's a high risk of getting caught, Takeda will be careful. That means he probably won't set fires as long as he's being watched.

It's an uneasy balance at best, but she doesn't know what else to do. Daigo would probably move to crush Takeda, but if she does that, she'll lose her trading contacts and be back to square one. Her ideal solution would be to replace Nobutora, but the only way for a clan to pass power peacefully is through family, and Nobutora has no direct heirs she could court for the role. And if she went that way, she'd have to kill or imprison Takeda for life--either of which he richly deserves, but it still makes her feel disquieted.

One day after riding practice, Dororo goes to see Hiroko the seamstress for her weekly spy report. Hiroko is the only one she trusts to measure her for clothes and armor; she has heard no new rumors of her gender around the city, and trusts Hiroko to be discreet. When the ninja had first suggested her as a common contact, Dororo had been surprised--until Hiroko had revealed her clan tattoo. Ex-ninja herself, retired and with a family now, but apparently very used to keeping secrets. After learning this, Dororo looks on Hiroko with increased respect.

She's also been seeing a lot of Hiroko lately, because she's needed a lot of new clothes since accepting Daigo's role for her: riding gear, training armor, decorative armor, fancy kimono for receiving guests. It's all staggeringly expensive, but her gradually increasing height and improving manners seem to make a good impression on most people she meets. None of Daigo's people have moved to strike against her, and she considers that a minor miracle.

So Dororo comes to visit, and Hiroko delivers her report: Takeda is being watched, and appears to know it; he hasn't deviated from a fixed routine, and it looks like he intends to spend the fall and winter on the border between Kaga and Asakura, repairing the structures in the village that burned.

Dororo nods acknowledgement and thanks Hiroko for the information. Then she sighs. She doesn't like this holding pattern, and waiting to do anything over winter might make her crazy.

Hiroko views her with a concerned expression. "Dororo-sama," she ventures, "is anything amiss? You appear concerned."

"I don't like leaving things this way," Dororo says. "It feels like Takeda is the one manipulating the situation while I'm stuck here waiting for his next move." She hasn't even dared to expand trade routes any further recently. The risk to the cities already connected to Enuma is too great.

She wishes Biwamaru were here, but he's been keeping busy going back and forth to her treasure island. Sometimes she even catches herself missing Daigo. Being a lord, even in surrogate, is exhausting, thankless, and harder than she thought it would be. She wishes she could go home, but her true home no longer exists, burned by samurai--and the home she'd built on the road isn't there for her anymore, either.

Hiroko looks at her, very still for a moment, and then she says: "I think you should call Takeda-sama back here."

"Then I would have to confront him about the fires, and everything I've worked for would collapse." 

"Maybe not," Hiroko says. "Feign ignorance. You are not much more than a child, and he may believe you. Say you are devastated over the recent fires and that you seek his guidance. Lords love to be flattered in that way."

Dororo frowns. "Okay. So he'll come peacefully--maybe. What then?"

Hiroko spreads her hands. "I do not know. But that course of action is active. It allows you to bring the source of your problem here. Perhaps your people will have some ideas for solving it."

Dororo nods, a little distracted. "Maybe. Thanks."

***

Oosuji and Kurakawa are in favor of maintaining the holding pattern. They think that calling Takeda to Enuma when Takeda and Daigo are only tenuous allies is risky, and tell her as much. 

The only one that seems to agree with her is Ryouma, which comes as something of a surprise. "It's only a matter of time before there's more fires," Ryouma says, a bit timid before Kurakawa, who is nearly twice his height. "I don't want to keep doing nothing."

"We are not," Oosuji insists. "Watching him has proven effective as a deterrent."

"We can't watch him forever," Dororo argues, "and besides, we're giving him time to plan. He could do something even worse before long."

Oosuji looks significantly to Kurakawa. "Shall I say it, or shall you?"

"Go ahead," Kurakawa says.

"If we lure Takeda here as you suggest, it can only result in a declaration of war. I know you feared it when Takeda first appeared, but that possibility is now imminent. Can you lead an army? Do you know how ill-equipped we are to fight right now, because of so much focus on trade and building?"

"If we fight a war now, we won't win," Kawakura confirms.

"Then what else can we do?"

Oosuji considers. "Another trade delegation arrives in two weeks. We could write to tell Takeda he would like to meet a trade partner in person. That's a peaceable pretext."

"So...we wait two weeks?"

"Yes, Dororo-sama." Something about her attitude is smug. Dororo had listened to her. But Dororo always listens to Daigo's people. It's probably why she's still alive.

Kawakura offers her a wolfish grin. "We'll be ready for whatever Takeda is planning."

***

Takeda agrees to the trade delegation meeting, but it's a close thing; he needs to ride hard to make it in time, but that suits Dororo fine. Hard travel is not good for bringing complex treacherous plots to fruition.

Dororo goes out to meet Takeda's party, set to arrive the day before the trade delegation. By bad luck, it's an exceptionally wet day; rain falls in sheets one minute and stops the next, making it hard to stay clean and dry. Dororo changes out of her clothes twice before she gives up and just makes peace with being always constantly damp.

She and Ryouma ride out to the main road and make sure the gate is open; Dororo can see Takeda's miserable-looking party from horseback, close and getting closer.

When Takeda's party reaches the main road they turn off onto a little-used side-road that goes to the woods around Enuma, in the direction of the Hall of Hell. 

"It looks like he's talking a detour," Ryouma says. Rain splashes off his eboshi; she wishes her own hat provided more rain cover.

"We're following him," she says.

"We should probably tell Kawakura--" Ryouma starts, but she's already gone.

***

"They're going in the Hall of Hell," she whispers. She dismounts, creeping closer, hoping the overcast day and the trees will keep her hidden. She hadn't expected to be back here so soon. The walls have partially collapsed from the frequent rain, but it's still standing, more or less in one piece except for the enormous hole in the roof and what appears to be a sagging foundation.

"Duh." Ryouma spits. He dismounts with her and follows, keeping behind her. "But why are they here?"

"I dunno, but I saw Takeda's guys go in there so there must be something--Ow!" Ryouma punches her in the arm.

"Be quiet," he hisses. "I think we're being watched."

"How astute," Takeda's voice resounds behind them, "because you are."

Something hits Dororo hard at the base of her skull, and she passes out.

***

When Dororo wakes in the Hall of Hell, she sees smoke rising from a hole in the ceiling. Takeda has kindled a fire at her old campsite, where she'd helped Kaname nurse Daigo back to health. Men are visible on every side; most are sitting and eating, but Takeda has eyes on her. She scans the room for Ryouma and doesn't see him.

"What did you do to him?" she insists, putting all her anger into the question.

"Me? Nothing. It appears that Dororo-sama collapsed while meeting us. Fearing for the lord's health, we took refuge from the rain in the nearest available structure." Takeda wrinkles his nose. "Though I suppose this place has seen better days." He gestures pompously around himself. "I sent your friend to bring your little pets here, but I doubt they'll be in time."

In time? "In time for what?"

Takeda points to the hole in the ceiling. 

When she squints at it, she sees a reddish purple glow, the sky reddening as if it were dawn, but it can't be; she hasn't been unconscious long enough.

A fire? In this rain? Now?

"How--" She's speechless. This is not physically possible. Setting a fire and expecting it to spread in this weather was crazy; it had to be. "I knew you were setting the fires already. You bastard," she curses. "Why? If you'd just gone along with everything, this would have made you rich!"

"I am rich," he snarls. "And I would never make a deal with a gutter brat, no matter what Kagemitsu Daigo says."

"You came and tested me," Dororo bites out. "We had an arrangement."

"I recognized you, at the time," Takeda says, bored. "One of my men was briefly employed by Daigo-sama as an enforcer. Perhaps you remember him? He has only one arm now."

Dororo's stomach turns over. "If you're here, who's setting the fire now? Who's doing it? Who did you put up to it?" Dororo had thought to find Takeda with a supply of kindling and oil, maybe, but none of that is in the hall. Even firewood seems pretty sparse.

"Did you think Daigo had a monopoly on using demons?" He laughs.

Dororo freezes as it all falls into place: the unnatural fire outside, the location, the betrayal. She opens her mouth to say something and hears a voice boom out from behind her. 

"No," the voice says out of the dark, "but I use them better."

There's the ring of steel on leaving sheaths as the hall descends into chaos.

All the fires in the hall go dark at once. Dororo's eyes can't adjust quickly, but she perceives what appears to be a monkey and a giant spider going to town on Takeda's people. Other men, unmarked in the darkness, also fight her captors; she ducks and rolls, placing herself near Daigo.

From her left, a beautiful woman in a dark kimono raises a hand on fire to one of Takeda's men. His hair catches fire, then his skin, and he drops to the floor, a human torch.

The monkey is golden in the dim light: a wild mountain monkey by the look of him, and when he screams everyone in front of him goes down, clutching bleeding ears in pain. The giant spider circles rapidly around the hall, embedding men in sticky webbing and stringing them up on the ceiling.

Creatures. No--demons. Working for Daigo. Again.

At the center of the battle, Daigo stands with his sword drawn, mostly defending himself and directing traffic. Dororo places herself at his side and wishes she had her own sword. She feels around for the remnants of her old fire pits, and uncovers a round smooth stone.

Thus armed, Dororo rises and puts herself directly at Daigo's shoulder. "Don't tell me you made a deal with the demons again," she says as the woman sets another man on fire. She lugs her stone at an approaching soldier and hits him with a clean blow right to the forehead; he goes down before he takes another step. "Don't you ever learn?" Dororo asks as she bends to find another stone.

"I didn't make a deal, ignorant nitwit," Daigo spits back, deflecting an sword thrust from an enemy with a jerky motion of his sword. "Hyakkimaru did."

Her ears perk up. "Huh?" She lobs her rock at Daigo's attacker, and he goes down, too, sword clattering out of his hand.

"Takeda has been planning something similar in Asakura," Daigo answers, temporarily safe in the battle. "Befriending demons, making sacrifices, setting fires, infiltrating armies and governments. Our interests aligned, so Hykkimaru loaned me his demons."

"Hyakkimaru...has demons? Working for him?"

Daigo snorts. "Working with him, maybe. My cast-off hellspawn is too pure and noble to sell himself for power."

"Careful, that's my friend you're talking about."

Daigo doesn't deign to look at her. "If you're not going to be helpful, get out of my way," Daigo orders imperiously.

Dororo decides that the most useful thing she can do is find Takeda, but he doesn't appear to be among the corpses or the passed-out people or the giant spider's strung-up captives. She circles the hall twice, warily, searching behind fallen statues and debris for him, but he's nowhere to be found.

When all is quiet, Daigo sheathes his sword, and Dororo approaches to tell him the bad news.

"Coward," Daigo says with his nostrils flared. Then he calls out: "Kaname!"

The doctor Dororo had met before materializes in the main entranceway to the Hall of Hell, looking perturbed. "What is it, Daigo-sama?"

"Did a man get past you outside?"

"No," Kaname says, and the answer is definite.

Daigo looks up. "He must have gone through the roof. But it will take him some time to build up reinforcements again." 

He shifts his attention to Dororo. "Thanks for not burning the city completely down while I was away," he says. Then he spins on his heel to go Buddha knows where while Dororo stands behind him with her mouth open in shock--the nerve of that guy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next will sync up the timelines; right now, Dororo's perspective is about a year ahead of Hyakkimaru's. The next chapter will rectify that, and reveal a lot of what Daigo has been up to all this time.


	15. Eighth Path - Samma Samadhi (Right concentration) - Hyakkimaru Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's humbling, to Hyakkimaru: understanding that every wound you've ever had is shared with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter is late, and incomplete, and will be posted in parts. *sigh* Ainikki has an aunt. That aunt is 361 pounds and had a blood clot sucked out of her heart. I spent the weekend with my mother and the aunt clearing sixty-seven trash bags out of the aunt's hoard, and replacing the food in her kitchen with healthy meals. It was time-sucking and exhausting (and the piles in the hoard are still waist-high), but it did give me a greater sense of compassion for my fellow human beings. Also a greater appreciation for bleach.
> 
> For those following along: the new goodies this week start from "Hyakkimaru goes out for more firewood around midnight." I anticipate actually truly 100% finishing this chapter this week so that I can finally post the end, but this is (perhaps unsurprisingly) refusing to be rushed.
> 
> The second chapter update starts with "Both Hyakkimaru and Iwasa had agreed that setting up the clinic and treating a few patients was the best way to avoid hostile suspicion inside Takeda castle." The final update to this chapter will go up tomorrow, and finally, the ending will be posted, probably this week. Thanks for your patience, everyone.

Hyakkimaru has a view of himself, as if from above, fighting a demon in an enemy camp, and it feels so familiar it's like déjà vu; he gets the sense that he should recognize this one.

The man's eyes are red and warped, like Tahoumaru's had been in their fight at Daigo's palace. He crosses both swords and lunges for a beheading, but the demon is quick and leaps over him, kicking him in the spine as he goes, and Hyakkimaru feels the air kicked out of him but keeps his footing, turns, blocks the next cut that would have opened his back and bled him out. 

Iwasa has drawn, too, and when the demon sees him it hesitates; dodges around him and flees the tent. Iwasa moves to go after it, but Hyakkimaru calls him back. "He'll mobilize the camp," Hyakkimaru says, "which means we need to cut a hole in the back of this tent and escape. Get a head start." He sheathes both swords and picks up Tarou.

A year ago--when it had been just him and Midoro and a quest for revenge--he might have gone into the camp, obliterated the army and killed the demon, no matter the cost. But doing that would almost certainly kill Tarou and Iwasa; it's not just him he has to worry about anymore.

He wraps Tarou in the remnants of his own torn winter cloak and gets a stable grip around his legs, carrying him piggy-back style. Then he turns toward Iwasa--and sees a small figure crouching at the entrance to the tent.

Akiko is there.

"How long--" he chokes out, staring at her. Iwasa, startled, looks where Hyakkimaru's looking and his jaw drops. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I followed you," she says, staring at the floor.

So Akiko has seen everything. Terrific.

***

Shattered. It's the only word that comes to mind when Hyakkimaru interrogates himself over the next several days. He carries a seeming-catatonic Tarou while Iwasa carries Akiko and they spend all their waking hours running in the direction of Kaguya's village. They hadn't taken the time to retrieve their wagon--it had likely been taken or burned anyway--and they hadn't said goodbye to the spider demon or Yajiro for fear of putting them and the runaway slaves at risk.

So they're fugitives, possibly leading an army of looters headed by a demon toward another defenseless town, but Hyakkimaru does not know what else to do. Tarou needs medical treatment; it is winter now and they are all injured need rest, Akiko perhaps excepted. They can't overwinter in the woods, and they are far from the lands Hyakkimaru knows well; he doesn't know where to find a cave or an abandoned temple around this area. They're three days from running out of food and have no time to stop to hunt--and if they build a fire in the open they'll be found.

He hadn't managed to kill that demon--it had turned tail, run like a coward--but it feels like the demon's already won, beaten him. Tarou's feet take on a gradually deepening blue tinge as they travel, and Akiko's cheeks go white when the sun starts to set. 

They need a fire, soon, or they might freeze to death. 

Defeated and numb from several kinds of cold, Hyakkimaru tracks deer to a copse that holds the remains of an old cabin clinging to a cliff face behind a screen of trees. It's abandoned--looks like it has been for a long time--but it's a place to sleep.

He covers their tracks while Iwasa lights a small fire and channels it through the holes near the cabin's foundation, hoping the diffuse smoke won't rise in an easy line. It's nearly dark, and the fire is mostly enclosed, so with any luck it won't draw visitors.

When Hyakkimaru returns from disguising their trail, he finds Iwasa sitting between Tarou and Akiko. Akiko huddles as close as possible to him for warmth, but Tarou squirms, almost like he wants to get away, but he also doesn't want to leave the fire. Hyakkimaru thinks he understands the feeling, but Tarou has not spoken to anyone since his rescue, and Hyakkimaru is reluctant to talk about it first.

There are a lot of things he doesn't want to talk about--his early past, his quest for wholeness, his relationship with his biological family. But there are very few things he actually can't talk about, and this is one of them. He locks eyes with Iwasa, who offers him a cavalier shrug and nothing else.

Hyakkimaru supposes that's to be expected. He's fortunate Iwasa hasn't turned tail and run himself. He and the kids probably look like dead weight from Iwasa's point of view.

Hyakkimaru passes out rations--nuts, seeds, and dried jerky--and puts water on to boil for bandages. Akiko helps him, then stirs the pot with a wooden spoon, staring lazily over the boiling cloth. "I saw," Akiko says to no one in particular as she pushes the bandages in slow circles around the pot. "I remember."

Hyakkimaru frowns. "You remember--what?"

She looks at him. "I was little," she says. "They took mom, and I wouldn't stop screaming, so they took me, too."

Iwasa also frowns at this revelation, then shakes his head. "No way. Your mom wasn't at that temple with you, was she?"

Akiko does not look up from the pot. "They killed her." Akiko says this in a dull dead way, the way Hyakkimaru might describe his abandonment to someone else. "Took me. Kept me until I escaped." She lets the collar of her kimono fall a bit to reveal the top of her spine, and in the light of the fire thin healed whip-cuts are faintly visible.

Hyakkimaru is not going to ask what was done to her. He had assumed those marks had come from strict temple school masters, but it seems he was mistaken. He thinks he can guess what happened--and he thinks he knows whose benefit Akiko is saying all of this for.

All this time he'd had nightmares about the worst happening to Akiko and Tarou, and Akiko had already come through the worst life had to offer. No wonder they'd gotten along from the first--and no wonder she'd been so brave: so much braver than Tarou, because she'd already had to defend her own life. He hadn't had any idea.

Tarou twitches and looks at Akiko, but he doesn't say anything.

It's humbling, to Hyakkimaru: understanding that every wound you've ever had is shared with someone else.

***

They can't replace Tarou's bandages until the laundered cloth dries, so Iwasa puts up a line to hang them inside while Hyakkimaru goes to check the perimeter, make sure their fire isn't visible.

The cabin fades into the trees at fifty paces, and he can't tell there's a fire even though he knows it's there. He drags his cloak over his tracks to hide them when he catches a flash of red light out of the corner of his eye; he straightens, and Mizuha stands in front of him, looking perturbed.

"Uh," he says. Not articulate, but it's late and he's tired and not sure what to do with this strange demon that follows him around and asks him questions instead of trying to kill him, as is customary.

"I'm here to tell you that I put the demon off your trail," she says.

"Oh," he says, articulate again. "Thanks--but why?"

She stares her uncomfortable stare again, the one that makes him feel like he's being looked through, and asks, "Didn't you recognize it?"

"Sort of," he says, remembering that uncanny feeling of recognition, as if viewing his battle with Tahoumaru from the outside. 

"Obariyon," she says with a sneer. "He led your Hall of Hell demons, and fled here." She fixes him with an intent stare. "You have brought me a world of trouble, demon slayer."

Her eyes go red for an uncomfortable instant, and his sword's out before he can blink, but she doesn't move, not even to dodge it as it goes through her chest as close range. She yawns, doesn't bleed, and doesn't move.

"You tried that already," she says in an exasperated tone. "Color me unimpressed. Don't tell me you managed to kill the others this way."

Well. Some demons had definitely been more simple than others. The Nokosaregumo, Antlion and Nue had proven more intelligent than most, but Mizuha is the first demon he's met that is immune to his demon-killing sword.

The demon he'd fought at the slave camp hadn't winced when cut by that sword, either, he realizes with a start. Is there something wrong with his weapons? Had he lost something, as he had when his mother's Buddha statue broke and unleashed the last Hall of Hell demon on the world?

He reaches for something inside him that's always been there: his resilience. It's the reason he hadn't died before Jukai had found him, and it's the reason he doesn't give up. He probes for the feeling, and finds it unmistakably gone. It had vanished, broken in pieces with his discovery of Tarou. No wonder he's so exhausted, so inarticulate, so slow...

"Lost your light, have you?" Mizuha asks, and the question almost sounds kind. She folds her arms. "Why don't you tell me why I had to chase a demon away from you, hm?"

He does tell her, short sentences at a time, and her eyes widen when she hears about the slaves, and the children. He dances around Tarou and Akiko's experiences for a while, until the pressure to say it pushes through his resistance: "The children I'm traveling with were raped."

Mizuha nods as if she knows everything. "What? You've never been?" She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

His mouth opens and he can't shut it. Mizuha smiles at him. "I just assumed," she says, "since by most accounts you tended to travel alone in Daigo's lands." She takes a deep breath. "Forgive the presumption. But I understand--that kind of damage. Even though this body isn't mine," she says. "I use it to move in the human world, to communicate, and I borrow her old name. This is at her request. She, too, was raped--and a priestess, at that--as her temple burned around her and help came too late." She pauses. "From my perspective, being raped is better than being dead. Besides, both rape and murder are common stories, demon slayer." She tosses her hair over one shoulder. 

"Being common doesn't make it right." As Mizuha speaks, he remembers an echo of something Mio once said, about hating hands that touched her--but not his. He hadn't fully understood her at the time, but he does now. Tears form at the corners of his eyes that don't fall. "You said Mizuha requested you."

"Yes."

"Are you her god?"

Mizuha's smile broadens. "I've been upgraded from demon to god. How nice." She takes a step back from him and leans against a tree, pressing her spine fully against it as snow falls in her hair. "Most of what people consider gods are actually us. Think about it. You don't exactly see the Buddha running around granting miracles everywhere, do you?"

"No." And he has the thought that maybe the force that saved him wasn't the Buddha, but a demon pretending to be one. If someone--or something--had removed that demon from the picture, then---

Well. Then there's nothing particularly special about his resilience. A demon had interfered with others to protect him for its own inscrutable reasons. He hates this idea so much that he automatically rejects it, but it makes a twisted sort of sense. It explains why Mizuha doesn't register as a demon to his senses, too--though it doesn't explain why Obariyon had appeared so clearly to be one.

There are inconsistencies here. If he were more rested, or more curious, he might unravel them further, but his toes are going numb and he's exhausted, so he asks, "Why are you here?" 

Mizuha steps away from her tree. "I did you a favor. You owe me one."

"I didn't ask for a favor."

"Fine. I need one from you." She glares at him. "I need you to help me kill Obariyon."

"I was planning on it, but I'm a little busy at the moment," he says, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "Kill him yourself if you need him dead so fast."

"Do you know how rare it is for demons to kill other demons?"

He shakes his head. "About as rare as murder among people--so, not rare at all, I would think."

"You're wrong," she says. "We have territory. We don't kill one another, usually, unless humans are involved."

"...you think humans are involved with something?" he asks after long, silent pause. "Why are you telling me this? Why do you want another demon dead?"

Hands on hips, she says: "Then I'll be blunt. Kill Obariyon."

Hyakkimaru blinks, then blinks again, and takes a stab at understanding her. "He killed one of yours, didn't he? Or did he just take over territory?"

"He's killing demons," she says. "He's trying to trade--use energy from my demons to return his friends to life." She appears disgusted, and Hyakkimaru understands why; he's experienced Obariyon's idea of recycling firsthand.

"And if I get rid of him for you?"

"You can't. Not on your own--"

"But if I can?" he asks without bothering to hear her out, because his feet are icicles and he wants to move back to the fire in the cabin very very soon.

Mizuha's hands shoot sparks up; she is exasperated, but nothing catches fire. "If you do it alone?" She thinks for a moment. "I won't come collect on the debt your friend owes me."

Well. That's one way to save Iwasa.

"Is that all?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You want more?"

"I want you to help me rid this land of demons. The bad ones--the ones that murder other demons. The ones that kill people."

"How would I do that?" she asks, but she sounds interested; the question isn't rhetorical, and he remembers that she'd said she didn't think he could do this alone. She had said she wanted a favor, but it sounds more like she had come to offer help...or an alliance of some kind? 

She's been hanging around him from the beginning, watching, observing; they have been circling one another in the longest game of chicken he's ever played, and now she's calling his bluff.

He thinks about it for a moment. "All right. You want me to get rid of Obariyon. I want to kill him, too. I also want this land at peace. That means stopping the raids on temples, and the fires.

"So let's do this: If you and your demons take care of the fires, I'll kill Obariyon on my own. You let Iwasa off the hook, and we'll call it square."

"Fine," she agrees readily: too readily; perhaps he should have asked for more. "Find your light again, demon slayer. For everyone's sake."

He doesn't respond to that, because he doesn't know how to recover a thing that he doesn't remember losing--and it might not be in his control, anyway. Despite that possibility, he's still not ready to give up.

"One last warning," Mizuha says, holding up a finger.

"What?"

"There are two men behind you in the trees." And she vanishes.

Hyakkimaru immediately tenses, turns, but he doesn't see anything; it's too dark. When he pauses to focus on sound, though, he hears it: two sets of shallow breathing, coming from behind an ancient birch tree with its bark stripped nearly to the core of itself. The figures are small, white, and nearly buried in the snow; that and nightfall had been why he hadn't seen them before.

Only two. He approaches cautiously, sword drawn, feet numb but silent on the fresh-fallen snow. Then he gets a glimpse of scar tissue gleaming in moonlight, notes the placement of the scar, and puts himself in ready stance.

"Daigo?" he asks, harsh and incredulous.

"We got separated from our escort," the other man explains before Daigo can so much as sneer. Hyakkimaru recognizes him as the doctor that had been with Daigo in Kaguya's prison, but he doesn't remember his name. "You don't know the way to the Asakusa clan, do you?"

"No," Hyakkimaru says. The name is unfamiliar. As his eyes adjust to the low light and the bright sheen of snow, he notices that both the doctor's and Daigo's lips are a distressing shade of purple. "But I do know the way to a fire. Come on."

The doctor doesn't need to be told twice, but Daigo seems to need help moving. Hyakkimaru moves to support him, but given Daigo's past responses to his assistance, he stops himself from approaching closer. "Are you injured?" he asks.

"Like you care," Daigo mutters.

"Just flesh wounds and numb legs," the doctor reassures him, then gets Daigo's arm around his shoulders to help support him. "Lead the way."

Hyakkimaru leads the doctor and Daigo into the cabin. When Iwasa sees unfamiliar figures behind Hyakkimaru, he draws, but Hyakkimaru reassures him that everything's fine. Akiko eyes the newcomers with wary suspicion. Tarou does not react at all.

Iwasa notices Daigo's lightning scar immediately, and his eyes dart excitedly between Hyakkimaru and Daigo as if he's expecting fireworks: some kind of explosive or bloody or dramatic show. When Daigo situates himself near the fire, lies down and falls immediately asleep, complete with snoring, Iwasa's expression resembles that of a disappointed child.

The doctor--Iwasa asks his name, and he gives it as Kaname, no surname--stays up with them a while, and asks to examine Tarou.

"Yeah, not sure that's a good idea, doc," Iwasa says. His hand goes to the handle of his katana in threat, but he doesn't draw. "He's been through Hell lately."

"Understatement, by the look of it," Kaname mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He rummages in his pack for dried meat, and offers some to Hyakkimaru and Iwasa; both politely decline. 

"We have enough, thanks," Hyakkimaru says, which isn't strictly true, but he would feel odd about accepting hospitality from any of Daigo's people. "Where is your escort?" he asks.

"Um, about that--"

Iwasa rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me we're picking up more strays. I've had my fill of 'em."

Kaname's expression hardens. "I don't know what's happened to them, but a wide column of men from an army without a banner passed through here a few hours ago. Would you know anything about that?"

Hyakkimaru stares into the fire and doesn't answer that question.

"Most of us scattered so we wouldn't be caught," Kaname says. "I think they're the ones setting the fires all over this region. If they're not, it's a hell of a coincidence, because they're in the right place." Hyakkimaru and Iwasa exchange glances, but don't say anything.

Iwasa nods thoughtfully after a moment. "I think I have an idea of who they're working for, then. And where they might be headed next."

That's right: Hyakkimaru had been under the impression that the army was chasing them, but it seems to have passed them right by. "Where?" he asks.

"Takeda castle."

He blinks, and blinks again. Ignorant as he is of most of the world outside Kaga, he has heard of that place. Jukai had told him that the walls were so high and smooth that they were unscalable. He'd been put in prison there once, and escaped, but he had never told Hyakkimaru how he'd managed it.

"Why there?" Hyakkimaru asks.

"It's like the doc says," Iwasa says. "They're headed in the right direction."

***

Hyakkimaru goes out for more firewood around midnight, when the rest of the camp is asleep. He bends to pick up a sufficiently dry branch when he feels a thin sliver of warmth from behind him, and sees dim steady light.

Not a torch: it can't be. And the fire isn't smoking, so he makes the obvious assumption: Mizuha is behind him again."Did you know Obariyon's army was setting the fires?" he asks, bending to retrieve another branch.

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I had to make sure you weren't incompetent," she says. 

Nice. Wonderful. It's not like he's spent his entire life being tested by demons, or anything. "Why did you come back?"

"To make sure you and Daigo hadn't killed each other. That would put a crimp in my plans."

"I'm not feeling particularly homicidal at the moment," he says, except maybe towards Obariyon. He straightens up and says, "Obariyon may be setting the fires, but he's doing it on someone else's orders."

"How do you know?"

"I know because he's not chasing me," he says. "He must have another directive."

"A little full of yourself, aren't you?" she asks, though there's no malice in the question. "Why do you think he's after you?"

"I escaped from him," he says. "In Kaga. As an infant, and last year. If I were a demon, I'd want revenge." It's possible he is partly a demon; Biwamaru had never given him a definitive answer on that score. And he hadn't fled from Hyakkimaru in that camp--it had been Iwasa that he'd been afraid of.

"Interesting," she says. "You always are."

He shrugs. Her opinion of him doesn't matter, but her help might. "I may have a plan to break through the army and kill him," he says, "but I'll need your help getting out." If Takeda castle's layout matches what Jukai had told him, getting out will be far worse than getting in.

"You know how to call me," she says dismissively, and vanishes.

***

The next morning, Iwasa is annoyingly chipper. When Hyakkimaru tells him they're going, definitively, to Takeda castle, he does a partial blackflip, hands to the ground and back up again, and gives him the biggest smile he's ever seen on the man.

Even Daigo seems to think that this behavior is odd. He looks to Hyakkimaru and says, "It seems your friend's a bit touched in the head."

"Shut up, ya moron, I'm fine," Iwasa says, cracking his knuckles over his knees. His expression looks younger than that of the children's. "I haven't been home in ages."

Daigo appears affronted at being called "moron," but he looks from Iwasa's gun to Hyakkimaru's swords in an instant and seems to realize he is literally outgunned. He sighs. "I suppose we're going with you," Daigo says. "At least until the scouting party finds us."

Akiko also finds Iwasa's behavior strange. She keeps farther away from usual when she asks, "Is a house really that amazing?"

"Wait 'til you see it, Akiko," he says. "It's really something."

Tarou does not break free of his strange catatonia, but he doesn't resist being carried. Iwasa agrees to take the first shift carrying him, and he moves so quickly that Daigo has marked trouble keeping up.

By mid-morning they've settled into three ragged groups: Hyakkimaru, Iwasa and Tarou (carried) up front, Akiko some ten feet back from them, and Daigo and Kaname some ten or fifteen feet beyond that. The wind is with them and the snow has hardened, so though it's cold it's not bitter, and their sandals and boots leave no obvious tracks. It's good traveling weather. Iwasa starts whistling folk songs, and Hyakkimaru says, "I've never seen you like this."

"Like what?" Iwasa asks, and his expression immediately reverts to its familiar crinkled battle-hardness.

"I don't know. Happy, I suppose." He doesn't ever remember being happy to go home. Seeing Jukai had sometimes made him happy, but their home had always been surrounded by demons.

"Harsh," he says, "but I guess you're right." He pauses. "I guess...when was the last time you were home?"

'Home' is with Jukai, so he has to think about it. "Two years ago, more or less," he says.

"You must miss it," Iwasa says.

"Not really," he answers. With Jukai gone and Dororo somewhere else, there's nothing concrete to anchor him in Kaga, near the Hall of Hell where he'd been well and truly born. 

"Hm," Iwasa says. "I guess I'm happy because I never thought I'd be able to go home again. I got kicked out when I was fourteen--lots of samurai brats are--shown the door with a sword and told not to return, ever."

"Then why are you so happy to go back? I doubt they'll be happy to see you."

Iwasa offers him a fierce grin. "Have I ever given you the impression that I liked following orders?" He laughs. "Takeda castle is a death trap--the walls are sheer, but tunneled under and through, perfect for archers or a sneak attack. But I got my first training there, and I can get us in. Going back there now...it feels like fate, if you believe in that kind of thing."

Hyakkimaru does somewhat believe in 'that kind of thing,' if only because something had spared his life when he was born...and it wasn't an evil demon. 

"Your old man's slow as shit," Iwasa complains, and Hyakkimaru smiles at him.

"Do I have to remind you that he disowned me?"

***

It takes four days marching on foot until they glimpse signal smoke from Takeda castle itself, perhaps a day or a day and a half out due to the rocky ground. Hyakkimaru has never seen any building so tall and sheer; his instinct would be to scale it to break in, but Iwasa says that's impossible.

"They seal the mortar with pitch and clay," Iwasa tells him. "When it hardens the wall is as smooth as one big stone. Tools don't work well on it; it's too dense. Believe me, I've tried."

"So how are we getting in?"

He thinks for a moment. "Two good ways," he says. "It would be easier if we all had guns, but..." His forehead crinkles in a frown. "Actually, I just had a rather nasty idea. Hyakkimaru," he says, facing him squarely, "you wouldn't happen to have any more of that burn ointment, would you?"

***

Iwasa's initial plan had been to either sneak them through the service entrance of the army camp, similar to how they had previously snuck in to rescue Tarou, or to use an underground tunnel that connected to a rudimentary sewage line to drain waste. The problem with both of those plans is obvious: the children don't fit in them anywhere, and leaving them alone while the adults play "let's massacre an army" is hardly a sound strategy.

So Hyakkimaru approves heartily of the new plan, which has the result of both using the children and (mostly) keeping them out of harm's way.  
  
In the scenario Iwasa has designed, Hyakkimaru is a travelling doctor, moving from town to town with his aging father (a fully made-up and costumed Daigo), apprentice (Kaname), two children, and a bodyguard. Both Daigo and Kaname object to this until Iwasa reveals that neither of them will have to do much real fighting, if any, if all goes well; Hyakkimaru and Iwasa will break through the outer wall while Daigo, Kaname and the children run to the open arms of Daigo's scouts. 

Iwasa had reasoned that an army setting fires for a warlord has likely incurred a lot of fire-related injuries. Hyakkimaru is not easily recognizable in Asakura territory, and Daigo without his scar does kind of resemble the sort of venerable old man that might have been a doctor once. The others barely even need to act their parts.

The main danger is, predictably, Iwasa himself. He's from this castle, and there might be someone that recognizes him, even through full eboshi headgear. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he says, smearing flesh-colored paint over Daigo's brow.

"Thank you for making me a part of this," Daigo says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"My pleasure, you old bastard," Iwasa says, and he goes over to brush and mend parts of his armor so that he will appear more presentable as a physician's bodyguard.

"I hate your friend," Daigo says to Hyakkimaru.

"Not my friend," Hyakkimaru says, and he swears Iwasa almost looks hurt for a second. He verifies that the children are mixing burn tincture and goes over to help Iwasa with his armor. "Sorry," he mutters, "I don't like Daigo knowing about anything important to me. He has a habit of--twisting it to his advantage." He remembers Dororo dragged off before his eyes and needs to stifle the sudden urge to yell.

"Don't worry about it," Iwasa says. "I always knew Daigo-sama was assholery personified. It's gratifying to verify that in person." He smooths panels of leather and twine along rivet lines and says, "There, good. I think we'll pass."

"And if we don't?"

"There's always plan B." Run like hell.

***

They almost fail right out of the gate, and it is entirely Hyakkimaru's fault.

He's used to speaking like a samurai, and some of Iwasa's bad manners have rubbed off on him. When he introduces himself as a physician at Takeda castle's main gate, he does so informally, leading Iwasa to kick him angrily, though somewhat unobtrusively, in the foot.

He corrects himself immediately. "I apologize," he says, going into a kowtow that everyone, even Tarou, stoops to copy. "I am exhausted from long travel, and have spent a great deal of time with soldiers." His hands twitch, missing his swords. "I am Hyakkimaru, a doctor of the Asakusa clan. I heard from a traveling merchant that there were men suffering from burns in this place, and I came to offer my assistance."

There are two guards on the gate, and a mess of others behind them, but it's hard to count them from this angle. The first guard kicks him in the shoulder and forces him to his feet. "Hyakkimaru, huh?" he says. "Never heard of you."

"My father is the respected physician Jukai," Hyakkimaru says, and hopes that the ghost of the man himself won't turn his tongue to sand for the lie. "Retired from Kaga, he, I his son, and another apprentice have come here to spread the healing power of medicine."

Iwasa's eyes widen a bit, as if he's impressed. He shouldn't be. Hyakkimaru is mimicking how Jukai used to read out formal text to him: long forms, stilted-seeming and bookish, but it definitely sounds like he's educated, and education of the sort he has often is relegated solely to physicians--or politicians. The only difficulty is translating Jukai's taught works to sound; he's never had to say any of this stuff aloud before, and he bites his tongue once or twice before getting the hang of it.

"I specialize in the treatment of burns," Hyakkimaru goes on. "Kaname-kun, a demonstration, if you will."

Kaname winces slightly at the diminutive honorific, then brings forward Tarou and lifts the sole of his foot. "This child's feet were burned nearly black," he says. "I feared he would lose them, despite all I could do. But I prayed at the great shrine of the Bodhisattva in the north of this province, and was granted a formula to heal burns. Examine closely, please."

This sort of babble is also the product of things Jukai had read him, or communicated to patients that hadn't believed in his expertise. He finds it odd that more people seem to put faith in the grace of Buddha than in the skill of actual people.

The soldier bends to examine the healed burns, and Tarou submits to the examination with a passivity that twists something in Hyakkimaru, but the guard likely doesn't think it any odder than viewing an artist's model or posing. 

"Good work," he says. "This is definitely a burn scar, but the skin healed over it and the blood didn't go poisonous. Impressive, sensei." He straightens up suddenly. "How much do you charge for your services?"

"The formula to treat burns is made from common ingredients," Hyakkimaru says. "All we would ask for is assistance in gathering them, a place to sleep, and a hot meal."

"Very reasonable," the guard says. "I'll talk to my commander. Please wait here."

They wait, and Daigo makes a good show of scolding Hyakkimaru for rudeness, probably for the other guard's benefit. "You were disrespectful and discourteous to our allies," he says in a cutting tone. 

Hyakkimaru restores his kowtowed position and apologizes profusely. Daigo drags him up by the ear and slaps him soundly; he is nearly stunned, but he remembers not to shield himself. A dutiful son wouldn't fight back against a parent's ire.

He continues to babble apologies until the other guard steps in and suggests, not unkindly, that Hyakkimaru has probably learned his lesson. Hyakkimaru emphatically agrees, and Daigo lets up on the physical punishment with a huff.

Shortly following this display, the first guard returns with his commanding officer, and they escort the group to a tent near the inner walls surrounding the castle. It's not the best location for their purposes, but it could be worse; they're in a partial corner with direct access to the back gate. Traffic from burn victims should also be easy to manage from here: they can only come in and out from one direction or risk jamming ordinary castle traffic.

They enter the tent all together, and the commanding officer tells them to expect patients starting in a quarter of an hour. Hyakkimaru gives his acknowledgment, and he and Kaname start preparing their poultice mixture for application.

When the soldiers are gone, Hyakkimaru glances over at Daigo. "I hope you enjoyed that."

"I did, yes," he says. "More than I thought I would, anyway."

"Focus," Iwasa says, peeking outside the tent, presumably looking for eavesdroppers. "We don't have a lot of time."

Iwasa pulls some of his matchstick from his armor, and begins winding it around a fuse for a fertilizer bomb. There's another benefit to being in a corner that Hyakkimaru had not understood until this moment: corners have cornerstones because they're weak without them. Blowing a hole in the corner of a building will do much more structural damage than merely blowing up a side.

He may have lost his light, or whatever Mizuha called it, but it seems his luck hasn't run out yet.

"I probably should have played the doctor," Kaname says, handing another bomb concealed in his pack over to Iwasa. "Where did you even learn to talk like that, boy? How did you know Jukai was a famous physician?"

"Uh," Hyakkimaru hesitates because the question is personal, and he feels like he's done enough damage to Jukai's memory today. He looks at his feet. "I was raised by Jukai. He--always told me to use every weapon I have." He spreads his hands. "Even his identity, I guess."

Kaname is looking at him like he's grown an extra head. He puts his bad leg forward, and says, "So you--recognize this?"

He bites his tongue before revealing that he used to have two just like it, but it's a perilously close thing. "I do," he says. "Jukai specialized in prosthetics."

Daigo hms. "Well, that explains a lot."

Kaname looks from Hyakkimaru to Daigo in confusion. "But you," he says to Hyakkimaru, "you're not missing anything."

"Not now," Hyakkimaru says, and starts counting out bandages. 

Kaname snorts. "Limbs don't regenerate."

"Tell that to my left leg," Hyakkimaru says without thinking, focused on his counting and the ratio of ingredient amounts for the poultice. "I managed to regrow that one twice."

Iwasa laughs, but it sounds forced. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't think this is the best time for jokes."

Hyakkimaru snaps out of preparation mode and realizes how much he's said. He has the choice to shrug it off, get ready and pretend he really had been joking--that's probably what he should do--or he can tell the truth. Kaname's eyes track him with a hunger that Hyakkimaru recognizes; he's searching for answers, too, and Hyakkimaru had been in his same place not too long ago. Arguably he's still in that place. He may be whole, but he doesn't yet know who he is.

"I was born fine," Hyakkimaru says. "Right after, most of my body was sacrificed to demons so that Kaga would prosper."

Kaname lets out a slow breath. Daigo is looking at him now, but he doesn't meet that gaze, choosing to keep his eyes neutrally on the outer flaps of the tent. 

"Until last year," he says, "I had no legs, arms, eyes, ears, nose, spine, voice, or skin. I couldn't feel pain at first, either, which is probably how I survived it." He spreads his hands. "Why Jukai didn't just let me float down the river, I'll never know."

"Jukai never gave up on a patient," Kaname says quietly. "Even when they tried giving up on him." He turns to look at Daigo, and Hyakkimaru copies the movement; both children also glare at him in accusation.

So Daigo looks to Hyakkimaru, and spreads his hands in a copied, probably unconscious, gesture. "I had my reasons. You have yours. Now does not seem like the time to rehash old grudges."

Hyakkimaru nods, and feels that his face has reddened: nerves, probably. He scans the room to make sure everyone is still preparing medicine. Iwasa gives him a sympathetic look and tightens his shoulders; clearly, he wants to say something, but now is definitely not the time. Akiko is busy doing what he should be: arranging and counting bandages.

His eyes stop on Tarou, who has gone completely still, sprawled in front of the poultice mixture laid out on a low table. Tarou's eyes are wide and appalled, but reactive. Hyakkimaru bends to help him grind more mint into the poultice, and Tarou whispers, "Is that--true?"

"Yes," Hyakkimaru says, not realizing for a second that this is the first time Tarou has spoken since his escape.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asks, and there's a hint of accusation there, but Hyakkimaru knows how to answer this question.

"Why haven't you been talking lately?"

Tarou nods as if he understands completely. "I thought nothing could be worse than...what happened. But that? That's worse."

Hyakkimaru offers him his best smile. "From my perspective, you still win. I'd never want anything that bad to happen to me, either."

Tarou nods in recognition of the sympathy, and Akiko pipes up: "We've all been hurt, but we get better," she says. "And we get better so that we can stop the bad guys from hurting us again."

It's somewhat simplistic, but not wrong, so Hyakkimaru says, "Here's to stopping the bad guys."

"And killing the monsters," Tarou adds. 

Daigo flinches. Both Hyakkimaru and Iwasa notice, but now is not the time for a divided front. They have a plan to execute.

Hyakkimaru remembers that Tarou didn't believe in monsters when they'd first met. The times have certainly changed.

***

Both Hyakkimaru and Iwasa had agreed that setting up the clinic and treating a few patients was the best way to avoid hostile suspicion inside Takeda castle. Daigo had preferred to just get to the tent, set the explosives, get the kids to safety and start the firefight, but that plan is obviously too risky; Daigo's obviously not used to factoring other people into his plans.

And so Hyakkimaru has the somewhat bizarre experience of treating the injuries of men he'd rather kill. Like everything else he does, he approaches the task with a kind of cold and perfectionist enthusiasm: he has never done this before, pretending to be Jukai, but he remembers Jukai and he thinks he knows how. The strange looks Kaname give him make him feel a little uneasy as he ties off a bandage here and spreads ointment there, each man's face a blur he doesn't want to remember.

When there's a brief gap in patients, Iwasa sets the explosives up behind the tent and conceals them under cloth while he prepares the fuses. More patients trickle in, and a bugle call comes down that makes Iwasa's shoulders tense.

"What is it?" Hyakkimaru asks after sending his latest patient out of the tent.

"That's the call for the commander," Iwasa says. "We're running out of time."

The fuses are laid, but not lit; Hyakkimaru rises to help Iwasa when the tent flap rises, revealing Obariyon in full armor and helmet. Iwasa gets the first bomb lit and Hyakkimaru clumsily lights another and scrambles to free his swords from where they're concealed inside his medical pouches.

He's slow, almost too slow. He notices the children flee the tent with Kaname and Daigo behind them--and that Obariyon does not pursue.

Finally, some good luck.

He catches the tip of Obariyon's spear along the line of his right shortsword just in time to avoid losing the arm and pushes up, crushing Obariyon's ribs and knocking the wind out of him. Hyakkimaru is not shocked or horrified this time: he understands the task ahead of him, and knows he's equal to it.

Obariyon's aura is also clearly and refreshingly demonic, but there is definitely something off about it; something strange and unfamiliar--

Obariyon grunts and takes a step back, and in the gap Hyakkimaru pushes his left sword through Obariyon's chest, right where the heart should be. The sword goes clean through his chest, blood spurting everywhere, and then--

Gone. No Obariyon. No blood, even. He hadn't merely fled: he had vanished into thin air. Iwasa stares slackjawed for a moment, then asks, "What happened?"

"I don't know," he says, and tightens his grip on his swords. "Find Daigo and Kaname out of here. I'll take care of this."

They have perhaps thirty seconds left on the fuse of the explosive that had been first to light. They need to get to cover.

It's too bad they hadn't anticipated that Obariyon might come to them--they might not have needed to cause such destruction to Takeda castle in the first place. Too late now.

Iwasa flees to the back of the tent, while Hyakkimaru goes out the front, and is confronted with a line of men some ten or fifteen thick and six or seven wide: it's a blockade, and Hyakkimaru doesn't have time for it.

Mentally, he changes the mens' heads into platforms and starts jumping on them, leaping two and three at a time to escape the fast-approaching explosion. Spears are flung at him in mid-leap, but he's above them all and can easily see them; no weapon lands a mark on him. He reaches the other end of the blockade without incident and turns briefly to watch the entire tent, plus the initial three or four layers of the blockade, go up in a deafening cloud of smoke and fire.

Just like that, Takeda castle is peeled open like an onion, and men seep from it like a raw wound, staggering and concussion-dizzy. Hyakkimaru hopes the children got away safely. He faces his stunned and screaming attackers, scanning faces for Obariyon, but he doesn't see him anywhere. Someone attacks him with a sword from behind; he turns and sees another man, as tall as he is, also carrying kodachi and wearing a helmet that demarcates him as a general or some other high rank. Hyakkimaru crosses his swords in brief acknowledgement, then jumps to kick him in the skull.

He misses--or, rather, the general dodges--but he is able to give a glancing blow to the heads of two men on either side of him; those two drop like stones. The fighting gets thick for a moment, too thick for maneuverability back to his original opponent, and he finds himself wishing for Iwasa and his snipers.

He kicks himself up and spins, using his swords as if they are still attached to him, and four men go down in a rush of blood and gore; his kimono is soaked red to the elbows. He bobs to avoid a blow he can see from the corner of his eye and feels something sharp enter his left shoulder from behind: the other swordsman's kodachi.

He bellows, screams, not for help but for concentration as he wrenches himself forward, away from the general. He's lucky: the wrenching is so sudden that the man lets go of his sword with it still in Hyakkimaru's wound.

He shouldn't pull it out until he can treat himself, but he's also in the middle of a chaotic battlefield and backup hasn't appeared yet, so he reflexively calls on the only other source of support he can think of: "Mizuha," he gasps with his own blood pouring onto the ground, "I need you!"

She appears in front of him almost immediately, as if she's been waiting for the call. She carries a sword made of fire, and she starts fighting the general hard: he cuts her and she morphs into flames, and as she presses the attack on him Hyakkimaru identifies it: the familiar demon aura that he'd sensed around every one of the demons that had stolen his body, including Obariyon. 

But though this demon aura definitely has similarities to Obariyon's, it's subtly different in a way that's hard to define. Like a demon pretending to be Obariyon. Or a derived demon--can demons have children? The aura shifts again as he watches, taking on a blue-white cast, reminding him of--

"Kyuubi," he growls, recognizing the aura of the nine-tailed fox demon at last. Three men attack him from the side but they're too slow, even when he's distracted; they go down without much effort needed from him. He keeps part of his attention on Mizuha's battle with the shape-shifting demon, and kicks himself because it makes sense, all of it: he hadn't ever really confirmed Kyuubi's death, and it's safer from the demon's perspective to pretend to be one that's already dead. It also explains the discrepancies in demon auras, and why Hyakkimaru's swords had not been able to kill this monster--they hadn't before, either.

But all demons can be defeated. He just needs to figure out what its weakness is.

As he's pondering this problem, there is a slightly distant call of horns: Daigo's reinforcements, or Iwasa's; he's not sure. A surge of men with Daigo's crest crudely drawn on helmets and capes breaks through the battle to his location, and he uses the cover to get closer to Mizuha and the demon-possessed general.

It's hard to be stealthy when staggering from blood loss, so the demon, perhaps predictably, melts away like a ghost before he can put his swords through it. Iwasa hails Hyakkimaru from atop a horse and lugs him up behind him by his good shoulder, demanding status and explanations.

Hyakkimaru fills him in as quickly as he can, and together they travel the battlefield searching for the leader. Hyakkimaru extends his swords to execute the ranks of Takeda men to either side, protecting the horse while Iwasa scouts for the general.

"I see him," Takeda calls, then draws out his gun--on horseback, no less--takes aim, and fires for the general's heart. He doesn't hit it, but he gets damn close.

Hyakkimaru takes a moment to appreciate Iwasa.

The moment ends when the general, whose chest and shoulder have been bloodied by the bullet, faces them head-on and climbs up over rubble to their level, charging them with his horse.

Ranks are so tight and enemies are so thick that they can't get out of the way for a moment. Then a rushing tide of Daigo's men surge over the invaders, clearing a path to bring Iwasa and Hyakkimaru up alongside the general. His aura is still Kyuubi's, and Hyakkimaru makes an attempt to leap from Iwasa's horse to his.

He fails and falls off the horse, blood still dripping from his arm as he defends himself from descending enemies. Iwasa dismounts behind him and for a few seconds all is chaos, and then--

A strange, high-pitched whistle, and everything stops. The men attacking Hyakkimaru pull up their weapons and run for the undamaged walls of the castle. A heartbeat later Daigo's men pursue, but none of the attackers remain near Hyakkimaru or Iwasa.

As men run past him without attacking, Hyakkimaru collapses to his knees and asks, "Why are they--backing off?"

"Crap, he recognized me." Iwasa rolls his eyes.

"Who did?"

"The captain of Takeda castle," he says, "is my idiot half-brother. He probably recognized me and called off his goons." His eyes go to the pronounced wound on Hyakkimaru's shoulder. "Can you walk?"

Hyakkimaru tries to stand, but it seems like he's going to need some extra help. "You have a brother?"

Iwasa pulls him up and supports him on one shoulder. "I'm like you. I have no family." He pauses. "But when I did, their name was Takeda."

***

Having Takeda Nobutora running scared is not the same as defeating him. Routing his army from Takeda castle, for whatever reason--numbers or recognition--is a good start, but the roving bands that had escaped the castle presumably have the same orders: start fires. Destroy supply lines. Kill whatever they see.

Before giving the Takeda army chase, Hyakkimaru takes the cautious step of dropping Akiko and Tarou off with Kaguya. He wishes he could fortify that position, but there's no time, so the best he can do is ask Kaguya's guards to take shifts at the village gate, and scout the surrounding area for raiders.

It may not be enough to protect the children, but they'll be in more danger with him and Iwasa hunting Takeda, and they will probably slow him down. The slower he hunts the bands, the more people will die, period.

Akiko in particular resents being left behind. After going back to Kaguya's Tarou takes to hiding under futons, like a child playing monster, and it might be cute if Hyakkimaru didn't understand the reason behind it. When he goes to say goodbye to the children, he finds Akiko standing seriously at the rice paper door while Tarou stomps his feet beneath the full-body cover of a futon. Her eyes track him across the room, and she holds her place even when Hyakkimaru enters.

Tarou hasn't spoken a word anyone since leaving the castle, but at least he's active.

Hyakkimaru tells Tarou goodbye, and he stops playing for a few seconds but doesn't give a reply. Then Hyakkimaru turns to Akiko. "I don't want to leave you behind," he says, anticipating her objection, "but I don't want to pull you two into more danger, either. I'll be back soon."

She frowns. "How soon?"

"Every time Iwasa and I need to resupply, we'll come here," he says. "Until we get Takeda."

Her frown doesn't budge. "If you kill Takeda, will all of this be over?"

Good question. He's not really sure, but he remembers that children like certainty, so he says, "Yes."

***

Hyakkimaru stops so many raids that they start blurring together in his mind. Often he and Iwasa can camp out in a tree with guns, wait for the enemy scouts to move in on a temple or grain store, and pick them off before they complete their mission. 

They do this several times in the weeks following the gutting of Takeda castle, but they do not encounter Takeda Nobutora even once. Hyakkimaru considers that Iwasa may be acting to defend his brother in some way--warn him of attacks or danger--but Iwasa brushes these accusations off. "That putz?" he asks whenever Hyakkimaru mentions Takeda. "Why would I protect him?"

An unprecedented side effect of their counter-raids is the scale of loot left behind by the dead or fleeing: weapons, money, food. He and Takeda start traveling by horse wagon to reduce trips back to Kaguya's village; the two of them and the small band of men and demons they hunt with are not able to carry that scale of supplies and treasures.

The counter-raiding parties usually consist of him and Iwasa, with Mizuha, Jorogumo, and local ghosts, including a few Kanekozou, ghosts of robbed travelers, and Jishoninoyuurei, ghosts of temple caretakers. When they come to villages near mountain lakes and rivers, shy kappa come out, a few at first, then in numbers when they hear that Hyakkimaru, Iwasa and other demons are helping end the fires being set in the villages. Some of Daigo's men also accompany them as messengers to keep them connected to the other counter-raiding parties--just in case one of them finds Takeda, or needs to call for help.

But even with Daigo's messengers and the kappa, Hyakkimaru's information network is spotty, and until winter ends travel is difficult; the only thing Hyakkimaru can really claim to have accomplished over winter is his acquisition of supplies and coin. When he asks Iwasa what to do with it, Iwasa shrugs and tells him it doesn't matter; dead men don't need money, anyway.

So Hyakkimaru uses his funds to break ground on two new buildings in Kaguya's village: an orphanage, and a hospital. While he's at it, he sends away for materials to ring Kaguya's village in a wall so high and thick most armies would think twice before trying to knock it down.

He wants to build the wall himself, but there's no time. As winter turns to spring early planting starts, and rain makes building impossible; tracking also becomes hazardous because of mudslides. With every week that passes, he, Iwasa and his merry band of reasonably tame demons encounter fewer and fewer of Takeda's raiding parties. He could be optimistic and assume he's killed them all, or most of them. But he's never been optimistic, so he assumes--and thinks he's right--that Takeda's men are going somewhere else.

The raiding parties have been inching steadily closer to Kaga than the Atsushi clan border, so Hyakkimaru is fairly sure that, with Asakusa lands safe thanks to his patrols, Takeda will soon have his eyes on another target. Iwasa agrees with him, and they hold a strategy meeting, him and Iwasa and his demon allies.

"If he's going to Kaga, so are we." Mizuha glares at Hyakkimaru.

Jorogumo tilts her head. "He's definitely going that way. He's already set fires. My spiders have told me. We should stop him."

Another demon, a kappa called Tokku that only joins them when they're close to waterways, hisses for a moment. Hyakkimaru knows kappa aren't considered very threatening among demons, but the dark slimy skin and odd little eyes always make his hair stand on end when he looks at Tokku.

"I will know when they cross the bridge into Kaga," he says. "They haven't yet, but I may be able to prepare an ambush."

"See to it," Hyakkimaru says, and watches the kappa slither off into the trees surrounding their camp, still vaguely stunned that demons will occasionally do as he says.

"So I guess we're going to Kaga," Iwasa says.

"No," Hyakkimaru replies, and the answer is definite. He can't return to Kaga until he has his answers about who he is--if even then. Besides, his presence in Kaga with Daigo gone would only cause more problems if he was recognized. "I'm not going to Kaga," he clarifies to Iwasa, "but you are."

"Not without your sorry ass I'm not," Iwasa says, just as insistent. Hyakkimaru has never been able to force Iwasa to do anything.

"Someone has to go," Hyakkimaru says.

Iwasa nods in agreement, then thinks a moment. "I think we have just the guy."

***

"It's about time I went home," Daigo says. "I've been on this wild goose chase long enough."

It had taken Tokku three days to set the ambush for Takeda at the bridge, and another two to reunite with Daigo at the border. Daigo had agreed to go back to Enuma with an ease that surprised Hyakkimaru, but he supposes that Daigo is far from home. Daigo has a home to go back to, unlike Hyakkimaru. He shouldn't feel jealous, but he is, a little.

"You know Takeda's probably waiting to ambush you," Hyakkimaru says in a tone of warning as he loads up two horses for Daigo and Kaname.

"Oh, I'm positive," Daigo says with a fierce grin. He's lost weight since he started going on raids, making his face appear more than ever like a predator's. For all that, he looks years younger than he had when they'd last met; Hyakkimaru figures that the doctor must be competent.

"There's a party of six scouts waiting for you at the bridge," Hyakkimaru says. "They'll destroy it behind you. I'm also lending you some of my people." He gestures behind him to the demons that have gathered in a loose group, some ten feet away.

Mizuha glares at Hyakkimaru like he's betrayed her.

"They don't look much like people to me," Daigo says with a snort.

"No," Hyakkimaru counters, "they're better. Stronger. And trustworthy. You should know that based on your...experience." He sighs and turns away from Daigo. Jorogumo had gone along with the idea easily enough as long as Yajiro could stay in Kaguya's village, and the kappa at the river are friendlier to Kaga over Takeda because of Hyakkimaru's slaughter of Shiranui's killer sharks, and the monstrous demonic whale.

He hadn't anticipated those kills, which hadn't yielded him any personal pieces, to come in so handy now, but kappa really are useful: for swimming, putting out fires, building bridges, passing information quickly--or drowning enemies.

Mizuha is the most reluctant to go to Kaga, and he doesn't blame her, exactly; that's not her land, and they're not her people. He feels motivated to offer her something, so he grins bitterly and says, "When you're done with this mission, I'll let you give me a second-degree burn."

Her eyes narrow. "That's not what I want," she says, and a moment later her eyes light up. "Instead, burn some incense with me at my temple."

Hyakkimaru nods. "Where is your temple?"

She offers him her enigmatic smile. "I'll show it to you when I get back."

***

When Hyakkimaru finally encounters Takeda Nobutora again, it's late autumn. He and Iwasa had retreated to Kaguya's village, now called Konzo since its explosive expansion, and assisted with the building projects around town. Hyakkimaru had also taken it upon himself to distribute supplies, and especially money, to anyone starving, although Iwasa had called that a bad business model.

"I can always make more money," Hyakkimaru had argued. Hyakkimaru has never had much use for money. If other people want his, they can take it. Iwasa eventually gets sick of arguing with him, throws up his hands and lets him have his way.

But for all that the town builds itself around their resources, they don't actually spend a lot of time there: between resupplies and raids, weeks can pass with the two of them scouting and hunting Takeda's men. It takes months, but the first project that they complete is a ditch with a stockade: a high fence around the entirety of Konzo with a single narrow gate that can be barred from the inside. Stations for torches line the stockade, providing an easy way for watchers to send signals. Hyakkimaru is proud of the stockade--the torches had been his idea,

On a rare night spent in Konzo, Hyakkimaru goes on patrol around the stockade of an evening, and so does Iwasa. They wander between the gateposts, carrying torches, passing other pairs on watch. Iwasa fiddles with his gun, and Hyakkimaru looks over at him. "What's the matter?" he asks.

"Nothing," Iwasa says curtly.

"Liar," Hyakkimaru answers.

He sighs. "I've been thinking about what happens. After we get Takeda."

Hyakkimaru's shoulders stiffen. He hadn't expected that answer, partly because he hasn't considered an _after._ "What will happen?"

Iwasa scratches the back of his neck. "I mean," he says, "I could--take over? From my brother. It would make sense. And it would mean peace. But--"

"--but you don't want to," Hyakkimaru finishes. "Because you've never wanted that." He understands completely. Daigo will have to kill him before making him his heir. 

Iwasa nods tightly. "You, of all people, should get it. It seems like you do. But I don't know how to escape that choice."

Hyakkimaru considers. They haven't caught Takeda yet, after all. "Maybe it's just not time to make it yet. If I were you, I would just wait."

Iwasa glances at him sidelong. "Wait? For what?"

He shrugs. "For the opportunity to make a change that you want--not one you're forced into." Much of Hyakkimaru's life has been on a sort of fixed path, determined by his enemies and those who wished him ill. It is only in this last year or so that he has been free to make many of his own choices. In Iwasa's position, he wouldn't want to give that up, either.

There's a faint smell of something rotten in the air, like nattou gone bad, or a festering wound, or--

"Gunpowder," Hyakkimaru says. And oil: lots of it. "Get down!"

He and Iwasa duck as an entire section of the stockade goes up in flames. Hyakkimaru spares a moment to think of Mizuha, but she's not here and he can't call her; he and Iwasa rush to the site of the fire as the signals along the watchtower send requests for aid, water, and more guards.

He and Iwasa reach the burn site first, in time to catch six fleeing figures in the act. Their guns are at the ready; they're on patrol, after all, and the first two go down almost without effort. Iwasa hangs back to reload while Hyakkimaru charges the other firestarters with both swords, cutting through two men and kicking another down.

Another shot goes off behind him, and the last man at the scene is under his feet. His face is in shadow and he bears no insignia; Hyakkimaru has only a little time to verify this before he stabs him through with both sword arms. The man coughs blood on Hyakkimaru's chest, then lies still.

From inside Konzo, men and women and some older children run in carrying buckets of water to put out the fire. Hyakkimaru takes stock of the men they've killed, and stops himself when he gets a good look at the face of the last man he'd run through.

It's Takeda Nobutora. Unmarked and unremarkable, yet unmistakable. Hyakkimaru figures that the raids had been so successful that he'd been forced to hunt in smaller bands to evade detection. He had also had no way of knowing that the leaders of the counter-raids would be on watch tonight. Or maybe he had known, and hubris had been his downfall.

He calls Iwasa over to identify the face, and Iwasa stands utterly still for a moment, ramrod straight and looking like he's about to start shaking.

"I killed your brother," Hyakkimaru says. Killed him, thoroughly and completely, without even being given a chance to talk. It doesn't matter that Hyakkimaru hadn't recognized his face at the time. 

It's something he has to live with for the rest of his life. It's different than leading a force that killed him; he did it himself, bears all the guilt of it himself.

Iwasa shakes his head and puts out his matchstick. He approaches Nobutora slowly, step by step, until Hyakkimaru can see the frozen winter mist as he breathes. "Yes, you killed Takeda Nobutora," Iwasa says in a neutral tone. "But, honestly? You're more my brother than he ever was."

There are tears at the corners of Hyakkimaru's eyes that don't fall as he remembers his other brother, the one he'd lost to lies and separation and fire. He has caused that same loss for Iwasa. Even if Iwasa forgives him, this is not something he will forget.

Iwasa's mouth turns up in a half-smile that he doesn't notice. "After all, us nameless bastards gotta stick together." He claps Hyakkimaru on the shoulder, hard, and Hyakkimaru sees that his eyes shine, too, though he is not crying. "Let's go home."

Home. He blinks and gets an image of Daigo's palace burning, then shakes his head and pictures Kaguya's house in Konzo, where the children are. "Home. Right."


	16. Path 8 - Right Concentration (Samma Samadhi) - Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Daigo," he says, but it's not cold or cruel this time. "Let's destroy the Hall of Hell."
> 
> Daigo's eyes narrow. "Why?"
> 
> "Because there are no demons in Kaga anymore," Hyakkimaru says. "And I want to remake this place as something new."
> 
> "You want to do it? Yourself?"
> 
> Hyakkimaru's lips twitch upward. "Yeah. I guess so."
> 
> ***
> 
> Or, the one where Hyakkimaru finally goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have compromised structure for more frequent updates...but here. Take this. Take this 10k word conclusion. :)

News of Takeda's fall, when it comes to Enuma, shocks everyone except Daigo. When the courier comes and tells them that men without a flag are attempting to flee over the border in droves, Daigo says simply: "Finally. I thought he'd finish weeks ago," and dismisses the courier to get rest and food, before anyone can ask any more questions. He also sends Kurakawa and Oosuji to the border with a military contingent to control immigration traffic. 

After everyone leaves, Dororo is alone in the room with Daigo, Kaname, and Ryouma. With no utterly loyal followers in the room to witness, Dororo puts both hands on her hips and allows herself to be utterly, truly, boiling mad. "Are you telling me you made Hyakki do your dirty work again, you bastard?"

"Language," he says harshly, "and he volunteered. It's not the same."

"He's right, Dororo," Kaname adds, a bit grudgingly. "Daigo didn't force anyone here. It was Hyakkimaru's idea." Kaname stares at Daigo's back and mutters, "I still can't believe he's your kid."

"I've always believed in using the right man for the job," Daigo says stiffly. "Or woman. You, case in point," he says to Dororo.

"That...was almost a compliment?" For both her and Hyakkimaru. Daigo must be in a good mood. Mad as she is at Daigo, there is the glowing spread of relief under her anger as the courier's news sinks in: Takeda is no more, and Hyakkimaru had accomplished it. Amazing. She wants to know more about it, and opens her mouth to ask when Daigo speaks again. 

"I hear you've been pretending to be male," he says. "That's reasonable, under the circumstances, but now that I'm back I expect you to start acting like a proper lady."

She glares at him and folds her arms, anger still winning over curiosity. "Make. Me."

"I'm adopting you as my heir," he says. "After that, I can do with you what I damn well please."

Kaname gives her a look like an apology, and Ryouma's hand comes down hard on her shoulder. Dororo blinks rapidly and does not speak for the rest of the evening.

***

It turns out that Daigo's idea of a 'proper lady' isn't quite as strict as she'd been fearing. She gets to continue her sword and spear practice as well as archery; in addition to that, Daigo expects her to read and write to a higher level, to learn manners, and to learn how to manage a household.

It's exhausting, but it could be worse.

She had assumed that the Takeda clan had been wiped out, and that Hyakkimaru had taken over its leadership, but that isn't actually the case. It turns out that the Takeda clan had produced another son that had rebelled against the family in his youth; that son had seized on the power vacuum and united Asakura behind him. Peace talks go over better than anyone expected, and for the first time in generations, Kaga has its next-door neighbor as an ally.

This can only be good for trade, and it is. Dororo is able to keep Biwamaru closer to her now; he doesn't need to ferry back and forth between Enuma and her island anymore, because she has plenty of ready cash on hand. A new city, Konzo, springs up seemingly overnight in contested Takeda territory, and Dororo uses most of her spare coin to build roads connecting here and there--Konzo is well supplied with dry goods, which Enuma needs for this year's winter.

Time passes. Her adoption is formalized in a solemn ceremony where everyone, including Oosuji, tries desperately not to laugh; Dororo had been the de facto ruler of Kaga in Daigo's absence, and the fragility of that arrangement, along with the uselessness of the ceremony, is not lost on anyone. Dororo supposes she should feel grateful not to be executed. She's a commoner, and she'd more than overstepped her bounds, but somehow it had all worked out.

Well...maybe not all of it. She stays up nights wondering what her father would think. Her father, who had hated all samurai, more than enough to kill dozens of them and be murdered by them and complications of internecine warfare. She doesn't have anyone to talk to about that, not really; most of her acquaintances are samurai now, or samurai-in-training like Ryouma, and the bottom falls out of her stomach whenever she is acknowledged as a samurai's daughter.

"No wonder Hyakki ran away from this," she mutters. And mutters often. The only person that kind of understands is Biwamaru--and he starts taking longer and longer journeys, with her no longer needing his protection. She misses him, like she misses everyone from her old life. She wakes every morning to patterned ceilings and painted walls and ornate clothing and too much food and needs to blink her eyes into focus because this can't be her life, not really; her life is on the road with her parents, or hiding under trees in the monsoon with Hyakkimaru. 

But this is her life now, and those others all seem like ghosts; remembered and precious, but unreal. 

She wakes up one morning and realizes with a pang of profound sadness that she doesn't even know if Biwamaru and Hyakkimaru are alive. She sits up from her futon in a fit of anxiety, but it's not as if she can summon them, or news of them, by force of will.

It takes her a full minute after waking to realize that what she's panicking about is that she's forgetting them. Her parents. Hyakkimaru. Biwamaru. Who she used to be.

In the swirl of growing up, she's losing pieces of herself she may not be able to recover.

  
***

The demons--Mizuha, Jorogumo and Tokku--all come back from Enuma, report that Daigo and Enuma are predictably fine, and go back to ground: Mizuha to one of her temples, Jorogumo to her house in Konzo with Yajiro, and Tokku back to the Aogumi river near Konzo.

After that, Konzo negotiates trade relations with Enuma, and the tiny town flowers like an orchid, extending in all directions, tendrils of its influence touching every human habitation within a day's walk. Hyakkimaru suddenly finds that it is much easier to buy building materials, clothing, and medicine, and he makes good use of his Takeda loot to do precisely that, while Iwasa mocks him for wasting money.

Konzo is technically under Iwasa's protection, which means it's a Takeda city in Asakura territory--very unusual, but Kaguya supplies a solution before it even becomes a problem. Everyone for fifty miles in every direction had tried to stop the looters starting fires, and she has her people spread the idea that it was Iwasa that killed them all. Initially, she had wanted to include Hyakkimaru in the rumors, but he had flatly refused. 

"C'mon, you don't want any credit?" Iwasa had complained. "Are you a saint, or something?"

He had shrugged and said nothing. He is glad the fires are over--for now. He is glad Konzo is doing well, and that the children have a safe place to live. How much is down to him, down to Iwasa, or down to sheer luck is definitely open to outside interpretation. He still doesn't know who he is, what he stands for. The clearest answer he can give himself is that he's someone that tries to do the right thing, for all that he fails often enough at it. He's a person that works on himself. His body becoming whole had helped him, but he still doesn't always feel like a real person.

"Fine," Iwasa had said to him, fierce predator's grin in place. "If you don't want the glory, I'll take it."

Kaguya also suggests an alliance between the rebel Takeda and Asakura, which suits the newly-minted lord Takeda Iwasa just fine. It takes time for men to flock over to his banner, and some of his brother's old guard do resist, but compared to the raiding parties setting fires they're an easier problem to deal with. 

Building up forces to protect the city and cement the alliance takes months, but by winter, there is a serviceable road to Enuma in one direction and to Tskushima in the other, and the city is well-supplied for anything they might need, and has a standing army of over two hundred men and women--and three-quarters of them veterans of previous wars.

Daigo could still crush them, of course. Any two lords together could, too. But their status as relative unknowns protects them first, and their links to Enuma's trade network insulate them when they start becoming known. In the first months after Iwasa's takeover of Konzo, the city is not attacked even once. 

Hyakkimaru is able to spend the winter teaching Akiko and the more reluctant Tarou to read, while helping Iwasa consolidate his power and crush pockets of resistance here and there.

While helping Iwasa, he also comes to a resolution. He's spent a lot of his life killing. Mostly out of necessity; his life has been targeted since his birth. But--and this is something he comes to realize as he helps put down pockets of old guard Takeda and Asakura resistance--it isn't actually something he enjoys.

Killing demons had been easy, before he'd considered any of them as allies. It's harder now to just hunt them--he has no reason to unless they attack someone, and in that sense demons are exactly like people--harmless unless provoked, or provoking. 

Killing people had also been easy when he'd only had one or two friends. But now he has a community--children, builders, and people who rely on him for food, clothing, road repair. When he looks at a person now, even a person holding up their sword in threat, all he sees is a father earning a wage to keep his kids from starving, or a mother or orphan forced by desperation into assassination.

One day, as he summons up the ancient rage that he has always felt at Daigo's men for burning Mio's temple in order to help him dispense with another enemy hideout, he understands that using the men he currently hunts as proxies for an old grudge is just...wrong.

He does clear out the hideout, efficiently and effectively, but he doesn't kill anyone. 

He uses the flat of his blades and the dull hilts as weapons in knocking twenty or twenty-five men unconscious. When Iwasa and his scouts come to wipe up the mess, Iwasa is surprised at the number of prisoners. "What's wrong?" he asks Hyakkimaru. "Did you get squeamish all of the sudden?"

"I just don't want to kill them," Hyakkimaru says, and that is when he has it, the realization: not just that he didn't want to kill those specific men, but that he didn't want to kill anymore, period, if he could help it. He has never really wanted to kill anyone, deep down; if there had been a way to get his body parts back from the demons without killing them, he might have tried that instead--and he would definitely have tried it first.

He's not naive enough to think he'll never have to kill again, but he figures that Iwasa's growing empire needs all the manpower it can get. As long as the prisoners agree to cooperate and work, this new arrangement could work out better for everyone.

***

Dororo gets pushed into a furisode on her fourteenth birthday, and she hates it. A lot.

Hiroko had fitted her for the intricately complex article of clothing some months before, and she hadn't grown as much as expected, so on the afternoon before her birthday feast she's down at the tailor's again, putting up with pricking pins and obnoxious, too-long sleeves. 

"Why do I have to wear this?" she complains, and Hiroko offers her a patient smile.

"It's for your birthday," she says. "It's special, isn't it?"

"I don't know why it's any more special than last year's birthday," she grumbles.

"You are of age to enter into omiai," Hiroko says. "This is important. Stop squirming."

"Omiai?" she asks, but she refuses to stop squirming unless or until the silk starts being comfortable. "You don't mean--"

"Yes," Hiroko says. "Daigo is showing you off. For potential marriage prospects." Hiroko's eyes are sympathetic. "He needs an heir."

Dororo straightens up, a little indignant. "I thought I was one."

"A male heir, dear," Hiroko says, and uses Dororo's temporarily frozen posture to stick another pin in her obi. "But I wouldn't worry. Daigo's not going to get rid of you until your official adulthood ceremony, I think. You have a few years yet." She smooths out the light wrinkles in the pattern on Dororo's left sleeve, then appraises her work. "Good."

Dororo frowns sourly at her. "If I'm not getting married yet, why does this matter?"

"It matters because Daigo wants to show you off," Hiroko says. 

"Like his property," she mutters.

"No," Hiroko says firmly. "Like you're valuable. Because you are." She looks Dororo in the eye. "If he lets this birthday pass and doesn't do something like this, it delegitimizes you in the eyes of his followers."

"He probably just wants to make me uncomfortable," Dororo says. Mission accomplished, then.

"Knowing our lord," Hiroko says demurely, "I am sure that is just a side consideration."

Hiroko moves behind her to do her hair, and Dororo stops grumbling to think about her explanation for today's feast. She does understand, now, why this is important. Samurai boys are often cast away from home to make their way in the world at this age.

She wonders when Hyakkimaru left home. If she were a boy, she might have been preparing to be cast out tonight. She blinks her eyes and holds them shut for a while while Hiroko does up her hair with two combs and paints her face with white, black, and red pigments. She wishes she could see herself, but she has no glass to see herself in, and the only mirrors in the shop give her an image of herself so blurry it may have been reflected from a pool of rippling water.

She has no doubt that, seeing herself from the outside, dressed like this, she wouldn't even recognize herself. The mere thought makes her want to rebel: throw off her fancy clothes and scrub off the makeup and steal Ryouma's horse (her own would be too conspicuous) and go--

\--where?

And that's the problem. Now that she's been sucked into Daigo's net, there's nowhere else for her to go. A few years ago, she might have thought to go looking for Hyakki, or her parents' graves, but she's too entrenched here, now, to go chasing after ghosts--and even if she went, Kurakawa or Oosuji--or heck, even Ryouma, or all three--would drag her back kicking and screaming, all while presenting budget reports and supply requisitions to be signed.

Ah, the life of a domestic samurai. Without a doubt, her father would have hated it.

***

  
Dororo's birthday dinner is so crowded that she can barely move for the crowd. Daigo had been in charge of the guest list--and it includes every surviving eligible border lord friendly with Kaga, so the main hall is absolutely packed with people when she enters. 

She knows when she sees the crowd that she is going to ruin her furisode somehow, and that will probably make Hiroko furious. Oosuji steers her toward the seat of honor, right next to Daigo himself. It takes all her long years of training, and all her hard-won understanding from Hiroko, not to sneer directly to his face.

So she tolerates the parade of guests bringing her presents: cloth for kimono and more furisode, thread for the embroidery she hates doing, half a dozen ornate fans and pieces of jewelry, saddle and tack for her horse. That last is actually rather considerate, and when she asks for the name of the giver again, she's somewhat relieved to find out that it's from Kaname and not some marriage-hungry border lord's son.

Daigo's enigmatic physician has become entrenched in the court as much as she has, but they've had little opportunity to speak when Daigo is not present. She wonders briefly if the horse gear had truly been his idea, or Daigo's. Daigo doesn't speak to her much, but she knows he keeps abreast of her education and interests. 

The thanks she offers Kaname is sincere, regardless of whose idea the gift was. When Daigo presents her with a bronze statue of a Buddha that had belonged to his late wife, she also manages to make the proper grateful sounds. Then sake arrives, lots and lots of sake, and the smells of food being prepared from the kitchen. She downs her first cup of sake in one go--bad idea; she'd had no idea how bitter it would be--and as her head comes down fast, almost in whiplash, she notices something odd about the Buddha statue Daigo had given her.

Just beneath the chubby chin of the head is a shining, raised joining of metal to metal, as if the head had come off the body at some point and been glued back on with gold. She touches it, and a shadow looms over her: Kaname, coming to refill her sake.

"It's called kintsugi," Kaname says quietly as he pours. "Repairing something broken, with gold, like that."

Dororo nods hesitantly. She doesn't need to ask how this statue broke: she has seen it before, at Banmon, when Hyakkimaru had cast it aside in some kind of revulsion or horror. "Why did he give it to me, I wonder," she mutters aloud.

"You are the lady of this house now," Kaname says matter-of-factly. "And the ladies of this house have always had the Goddess of Mercy to watch over them."

Fat lot of good it had done them. Dororo vaguely remembers Nui no Kata: her rescuer from bondage, Hyakkimaru's mother, a haunted and beautiful woman with sad eyes. Dororo's sure she can't ever hold a candle to that, and she's not even all that determined to try.

She manages not to stumble over her warashi as she makes her way through the throng of guests to the corner of the room where Ryouma is standing guard over the hall's entrance. He looks surprised to see her. "Dororo-sama? Shouldn't you be in there, with your guests?"

"They're Daigo's guests, not mine," she says, wishing she'd managed to get more sake into herself before stumbling off.

Ryouma seems to guess what's bothering her. "You know he doesn't actually want you to marry anyone," Ryouma says. "Not right now, anyway. It's not like you have to flirt, or anything."

She nods cautiously. "I'm aware of that. I didn't--Until today, I wasn't expecting--"

"You're going to have to marry someone, eventually, though," he says. "I think Daigo just wanted you to think about that."

"He could have just told me."

"You--don't have a good track record of listening to him. Even when he tries the direct approach."

"Fair point." She snorts. "I could always marry you."

Ryouma makes a face like she's turned into a bowl of nattou. "No offense to you, Dororo. I like you fine. But I'd rather be an underling than a target."

She blinks at this weird, warped compliment, then punches Ryouma hard in the shoulder. "Thanks," she says.

"For what?"

"For being my friend," she says. With Biwamaru gone and Daigo watching her every move, Ryouma and Hiroko are the only friends she really has anymore.

Later that night, when the party's over and most of her guests have retired or passed out, she sneaks away with the Buddha statue to the Hall of Hell, and places it on the ground before the ruined demon statues, because if there's any Goddess of Mercy at all, she would expect that location to be most effective in showing its powers. It just looks like an ordinary statue, but she leaves it there as a guard of sorts, and it makes her feel better.

The Hall of Hell demons haven't come back, not in years. Statue or not, they're probably not coming back. But she doesn't want the memento of a sad dead woman in her rooms, either, so she figures it doesn't hurt to put it somewhere where the force of a benevolent god might do some good.

She exits the Hall of Hell and looks around cautiously, but sees no one. She takes a step forward down the stairs and freezes when she hears someone call out to her from behind.

"Interesting place, huh," an unfamiliar voice says from the shadows of the entryway.

She doesn't turn. "Why did you follow me?" she asks, stunned by the ring of steel in her own voice. She sounds like her father, Hibukuro.

"Well, this is awkward but...you're my best friend's kid sister, it's your birthday, and you wandered off by yourself. And if he found out I just let you do that, he'd be furious, so..."

Dororo's forehead crinkles in a frown. "I have no siblings. I was adopted."

"Oh," the man says, "so you don't know Hyakkimaru, then?"

Dororo's blood freezes in her veins. "What do you know about Hyakkimaru?"

"I just told you, miss," he says. "He's my best friend. For whatever that's worth."

Finally, she turns around, trying to get a glimpse of the man in the darkness. She recognizes him, vaguely; it's the new Takeda lord, in from Konzo. She relaxes a fraction, but maintains their distance.

"How do you know him?" she asks quietly.

"Well, we didn't meet under the best of circumstances..."

Iwasa tells her about another temple fire, and about Takeda bandits in Asakura that had burned villages there, same as in Kaga. He tells her how Hyakkimaru put together coordinating groups to hunt those bandits, and how he and Hyakkimaru had discovered who was actually controlling them. He tells her about building Konzo and walls and roads.

As he speaks, Dororo understands that his own way, Hyakkimaru has been doing exactly what she's been doing, in a different place--and if he hadn't done everything he'd done, Kaga might have been swallowed by Takeda's shadow invasion or crippled by economic strife. Without knowing it, perhaps without consciously trying, he had helped rebuild his homeland.

It's a long story, so Dororo eventually takes a seat on the stairs, and Iwasa approaches by slow measures and sits down on the other side, still maintaining a fair amount of space between them; it's clear he doesn't want to scare her. "If you told me when we met that we'd be friends, I would have laughed at you," he says. "He's a hard one to know. I tried to get him to come with me for this, but..."

She straightens up. "What?"

"He doesn't want to come home," Takeda Iwasa says. "I think he's afraid of what he'll find. I guess I get to tell him that here's a lot like Konzo--only bigger, older and with his mean old man in charge." He grins. "Maybe he'll be relieved enough to come back."

Come back? Something in her clamors for that, but--no. No. She remembers being somewhat less than ten years old and being so confused at why Hyakkimaru couldn't stay in Kaga and build a better world with her, but now she understands: Hyakkimaru had not been able to see a path forward of direct cooperation with Daigo. The fact that he'd helped Daigo indirectly is probably the most he can manage without suffering dissonance within himself: assisting the man that had decided before he was even born that he should be sacrificed and die the most gruesome death possible. 

She can't make Hyakkimaru come back here, not while Daigo is in charge. She thinks that if she called to him through Iwasa, he would come--but she wants him to make the choice on his own. He's let her make her own choices over the years. It's the least she can do in return. 

"I'd like to ask a favor," she says.

Iwasa looks surprised. "Anything, miss."

"Don't tell him you saw me." He voice shakes a little. It hurts her more to say that than anything she has ever said, but if Iwasa is telling the truth, then she wants Hyakkimaru to stay where he is. 

She won't force him to come to Kaga, now that she finally understands the reason he left--and what he's been doing with the time.

Takeda Iwasa gives her a tight smile. "Ah, I see, there it is."

"What?" she asks.

"The family resemblance." He laughs harshly. "But sure, miss. I won't tell him."

"Thank you," she says softly.

Takeda Iwasa walks her back to Daigo's palace and entrusts her to Oosuji's care before retiring for the night. Oosuji takes Dororo to her rooms. Hiroko is not there so getting the furisode off is impossible. She goes to sleep in it, feeling both physically and mentally constrained.

When she wakes up the next morning, the furisode is permanently creased from her sleeping position. Hiroko doesn't quite yell her ears off, but Daigo makes her pay for the expense out of her own pocket.

_Happy birthday to me._

***

It takes almost three years to put down the last embers of the Takeda resistance in Asakura. In that time Iwasa travels hither and yon, making friends and killing enemies, but generally staying close by Konzo in case of another uprising or Takeda threat. Hyakkimaru refuses to be put in charge while he's away, so that honor goes to Kaguya, who is absolutely delighted to manage accounts and occasionally harangue him for money.

The end of the Takeda resistance is very much a whimper and not a bang; the men and women that he and Iwasa encounter have been dwindling in number and determination at a steady rate over time, and Hyakkimaru is able to convince the last rebel leader to come back with him to Konzo for a hot meal and medicine, along with all his people.

When he gets back home leading a bedraggled line of seventeen people, Kaguya talks his ear off about not having enough to spare until he digs into his side pouch, grabs a few coins of the largest denomination he has, and tosses them on the table. Kaguya gives him a look of venom, but stops talking and starts making living arrangements for their prisoners/guests in the basement area. Cells unlocked, of course.

Hyakkimaru's tired, but he always checks in on the children when he comes to Konzo, so he's not likely to make an exception tonight. He expects them to be in their futons in adjoining rooms, but when he checks in on Akiko she isn't there. He opens the sliding door to Tarou's room carefully and sees the two of them scuffling together on the floor, and there's a knife in Akiko's hand.

Hyakkimaru reacts immediately, grabbing Akiko by the neck of her sleeping tunic and pushing Tarou away from her. "What the hell are you doing?" he screams at her, really screams, because he'd never even considered that his kids--or, kids he's come to see as his responsibility--could murder each other.

"It's not," Akiko gasps, and there are resistance wounds on her hands--cuts from a knife. "Look at his wrists."

Hyakkimaru lets her go and moves toward Tarou, who cowers like he's afraid to be beaten. He holds up his wrists without being asked, and there is a two-inch vertical gauge right along his primary vein that is still bleeding. 

Hyakkimaru knows what he's walked into, now. Part of him is relieved, because at least Akiko's not a killer. Not yet. "Akiko," he says, much more gently, "go down to our supply room and get me a bandage, please."

She nods stiffly and turns to leave.

"And take your time," he adds. "Get your hands washed and bandaged, too."

"Okay." She leaves, sliding the door closed behind her.  
  
With the knife no longer in the room, Hyakkimaru takes a deep breath of relief.

"You should have let me," Tarou mutters. "_She_ should have let me."

Hyakkimaru folds his arms in a gesture that might seem forbidding, but it's the only way he knows to give himself comfort right now. "You know, when I think of it, all Akiko has ever done is protect you," Hyakkimaru says. "How do you think she feels, knowing she can't even protect you from yourself?"

"It's not her decision," he insists, and makes a wide swipe for one of Hyakkimaru's swords, missing by a mile. 

Hyakkimaru raises an eyebrow at him. "You're right," Hyakkimaru says. "The decision to live or die is yours. But we--me and Iwasa, and Akiko, too--we don't want you to hurt yourself. I think that counts for something. Don't you?"

Tarou's gaze hovers between him and the floor and the thin trail of blood across his wrist. "I'm sick of it," he says. "I want it to be over."

"What? What do you want to be over?"

"My life," he says. "My memories. They hurt and they won't stop, and I want them gone." He looks Hyakkimaru in the eye. "I don't have anything to live for."

Hyakkimaru takes this declaration seriously, in part because he sometimes feels the same way. "Some memories fade, in time," he says cautiously, "but I'll always remember--" His blind deaf dark world. The world where the only thing he experienced were monsters and non-monsters: the world where he grew up. "--feeling helpless," Hyakkimaru says. "Feeling like I couldn't change anything. That I was stuck in something awful and couldn't get out."

"Did you ever get out?" Tarou asks. "It looks like you did."

"Sometimes I wonder," Hyakkimaru says. "I'm definitely not helpless anymore. And I have an ordinary human experience of the world now. But that doesn't change my past, or what happened to me. I remember all of that, probably as clearly as you remember yours." The bright red attackers of his childhood; the first stab of pain along his restored nerves. Mio's light, going out in death, never seeing her face. Dororo's face in the dim light of sunset and fire, appearing above him in the well. Jukai's face, right before he'd died to save him. His memory is a series of sensations that he'd never consciously cataloged, and he allows it all to overwhelm him for a moment so that Tarou can see it. 

"You--hurt like me," Tarou says. "All the time?"

"No," Hyakkimaru says. "Not all the time. I think it's because I chose something to live for."

Tarou snorts. "Like what?"

"Like protecting you, and Akiko," he says. "I failed at that, and I am so sorry. Truly I am. If you want to point a knife at anyone, point it at me for failing to protect you."

Tarou's eyes widen. "If you hadn't rescued me--twice--I would be dead already," he says. "I would never point it at you." 

"If you hadn't been there to save, I might have become something different," Hyakkimaru says. "My father sold my body before I was born. I've hunted samurai willing to murder their own families for power. I've lived through famines, wars, and catastrophic injuries alone. If I'd let all that get to me and didn't have you, I would probably have turned into something like Iwasa, before we met him. A mercenary that murders women and children in their sleep. Because if the whole world is awful, awful orders don't matter, right?" He pauses. "But they do matter. We might not be able to fix the world. But I'm telling you that, for me? You not being here would make it worse."

Tarou nods like he believes him. Hyakkimaru scans the room for anything that might be used as a weapon, and sees that Akiko has returned without his noticing. "Me too," she whispers when he finishes speaking, and Tarou collapses back on his futon.

"I'm going to sleep," he mutters.

"You're getting a bandage first," Akiko insists, and he sits up and lets her baby him passively, and when he lies back down she takes an extra blanket from the corner and lies down next to him on the tatami.

Hyakkimaru can leave now. He knows Akiko will watch him like a hawk all night.

Still, this is something of an emergency, so instead of going to his own futon he tracks down Iwasa, who'd pulled a double watch tonight and looks just as tired as Hyakkimaru feels.

Hyakkimaru reports what happened, leaving out some of the more personal details, and Iwasa whistles impressively. "So you managed to talk the kid off the ledge, huh," Iwasa says as he sets his torch in a bracket along the stockade.

"For the moment, anyway," Hyakkimaru says. "We need to give him something to do."

"Like what, you think?" Iwasa asks.

He's not sure. Akiko has shown more promise at martial arts and scouting than him, but he shows some skill with medicine and cooking, and hunting too. Though his reading is still poor, he'd been able to muddle through a few recipes on his own, mainly when he'd been hungry.

"I'll teach him to make ointment," Hyakkimaru says. 

Iwasa raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I think he'll be good at it," Hyakkimaru says. "And then he'll make money, and be able to do anything and go anywhere he wants."

Iwasa nods. "If you say so. I'll put an order in for that strange bark you need in the morning. And buy another mortar for the kitchen."

"Thanks," he says. "Speaking of the kitchen, I have to make sure our new recruits were fed."

Iwasa waves him off. "G'head. I'll man the fort here."

Hyakkimaru is able to confirm that the rebel leader and his people have been given food, water, and sets of clean clothing. When Hyakkimaru checks in on the children one more time before he goes to sleep himself, he finds Akiko sharing a futon with Tarou, fingernails gripping his shoulders from behind. She's dead asleep, but Tarou's not, and the look he gives Hyakkimaru is long-suffering before Hyakkimaru slides the rice-paper door shut and goes to his own room.

***

Hyakkimaru and Tarou start making small batches of burn ointment over the next few days, and as predicted, Tarou is good at it. Competence restores something like life to Tarou's movements. Despite himself, he likes the work, and Akiko, in typical fashion, starts turning making ointment into a competition. The quality of ointment his makes is almost always better than hers, which gives him a bit of an ego boost as well--Akiko never pulls punches on anything.

"He seems better," Iwasa says as he observes him working.

And he does, and he is, but not completely. Hyakkimaru can tell: there's something behind his eyes that's still dark and scared and insecure. But it does seem like his life is out of immediate danger.

"We need a market to sell this to before it goes bad," Hyakkimaru says. "I'm thinking of sending him to Enuma." It's their biggest market, and Asakura markets are still saturated with it. It's a credit to Jukai's recipe that it doesn't go bad for years if it's stored properly. He could probably afford to charge more for it, but he doesn't have the heart.

"To Enuma?" Iwasa asks. "Alone?"

"Of course not," Hyakkimaru says. "I'd send guards."

"Why not go yourself?" Hyakkimaru hesitates, and Iwasa asks, "Will you ever go home?" 

"I don't know," Hyakkimaru answers. "Will you?"

"Touche," Iwasa offers. "But honestly," Iwasa says, "after everything--would you trust him to go with anyone else?"

Hyakkimaru doesn't even have to think about that: "No."

Iwasa nods. "I can't spare you until spring, anyway. But if you want to take a trip then, I may be able to come with you."

***

The idea of going home is far from a simple proposition. Something in Hyakkimaru's gut clenches against it whenever he so much as turns in the direction of Enuma. He doesn't feel ready to go back there--back to Daigo and Jukai's empty house and the ruins of the place he'd been born in. He hasn't changed enough--or hasn't changed in the right ways. He feels like going back will bring him closer to who he used to be. 

Objections or not, the trip has been decided, and Tarou's cautious excitement about it helps Hyakkimaru stifle some of his personal discomfort. Hyakkimaru understands that there's really not much market for his burn ointment in Asakura at the moment--or rather, the market is saturated: every city, town and hovel from here to Tskushima territory have easy access and a ready supply of it, thanks to the roads steadily improving over the past few years. It is only because Enuma is so populous, so far away, and so prone to fire-related damage that there is so much demand there, and going there with a large supply of it seems to be the best way of meeting that demand and making Tarou some profit in the process.

It's a wet spring. If the roads had not been built up the previous season, many of them might have been washed away. Hyakkimaru crosses the familiar rickety bridge spanning Asakura and Kaga with some fondness; it's changed a lot. Enough to support him, Tarou, and their horses packed with gear and medicine. On their own two feet, they would only be able to carry half as much--and cross the bridge one at a time.

Iwasa and Akiko will be joining them on this trip, but Iwasa had decided to give them half a day's head start; one of the nearby villages had suffered flood damage, and Iwasa is technically-if-not-officially responsible for the cleanup of that sort of thing now. Hyakkimaru remembers when he didn't trust Iwasa. Now he realizes that responsibility suits him well.

Akiko had complained, of course. But she also wasn't about to let Iwasa travel alone. Since Tarou's...incident, she has checked up on each and every one of them several times a day. Hyakkimaru supposes it's what having an overprotective mother would be like. He doesn't mind, really. Iwasa finds it hilarious. And Tarou...

It's difficult to tell what Tarou's feeling, these days. He talks now, more than he did before, but only when spoken to; he doesn't initiate any conversations not related to questions about the ointment they're making and directions to unfamiliar places. Hyakkimaru gets a sense of him as someone without insides: no drives or desires except the absolute basics. 

Hyakkimaru doesn't know how to teach someone to grow a soul. 

They get over the bridge and it starts to rain. Hyakkimaru guides their horses to a thicket and starts putting up stakes for a tent. Tarou helps him mutely, and after the horses are watered and tethered and they're under shelter, Tarou hugs his knees to his chest and says, "I can never go home."

Hyakkimaru's eyes widen, and he remembers. On the hill above the bridge they'd just crossed, he had met Tarou and Akiko for the first time: war orphans taken in by the temple. He frowns, and asks, "Do you remember where you were born?"

"No."

"Your parents?"

"No." He settles his chin on his kneecaps. "Takeda killed everyone. All my friends. I barely knew Akiko, before..." he trails off.

Before. If Mizuha were here, she would probably say that this was a common story, and that Tarou was lucky to be alive. 

"I'm cold," Tarou says, and Hyakkimaru gets another blanket, only slightly damp, out of his pack. He settles it over Tarou's shoulders and looks up, catching a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye. Red like embers.

His instincts are rarely wrong: there's Mizuha, peering at them from behind a tree. She steps forward, only two or three paces from them, and the air around them turns warm--and somewhat humid. Tarou stops shivering and gapes from her to Hyakkimaru, mutely asking if he's hallucinating.

Hyakkimaru nods to acknowledge Mizuha. "It's not that I don't appreciate fire, especially in this season," Hyakkimaru says, "but I really did not expect to see you here."

"I never got to show you my temple," Mizuha says. 

"No," he agrees, remembering suddenly that he'd promised to burn incense with her at her temple when she'd gotten back from Enuma. It's been years since then, five or six, he can't remember. "You could have reminded me, you know."

"I wasn't sure you would want to go," she says.

"Why?" His forehead crinkles in a frown.

"Because you know where it is," she says, "and I'm pretty sure it's the place you hate most in the world."

He stares at her as he realizes what that means.

Tarou tugs at his sleeve and whispers, "What is she talking about? Is that a god? Or a demon? Or--"

"Be quiet," Hyakkimaru hisses with more force than is strictly necessary, and Tarou flinches. Hyakkimaru fixes all of his attention on Mizuha. "No. You can't be a Hall of Hell demon--you don't have--"

"--you're half right," she says, cutting him off. "But you promised."

He nods slowly. "I did."

"Then I'll see you." And she vanishes, taking her warmth with her.

Tarou looks up at him, afraid. "Where are we going?"

He sighs. "To the place where I was born."

"You get to go home," Tarou says after thinking a moment. "I wish I could--"

"I wish I couldn't," Hyakkimaru says. It comes out without thinking, without him wanting it to, but there it is. The Hall of Hell really is the last place he wants to return to. He'd hoped that the damage it had suffered and the intervening years would have collapsed it by now, but he also knows better than to make assumptions.

"You want to never go home?" Tarou asks him, incredulous. 

He wants Konzo to be his home. He doesn't want to see Daigo again if he can help it. He doesn't want to interfere with Dororo's life in any way that would make it worse--and he tends to draw trouble, whether he wants it or not. And he never wants to see the demons, or even images of them, that had robbed him of any chance of an ordinary childhood.

Jukai's cottage isn't far from the Hall. He kind of wants to visit that, to see if anything was left behind, though he doubts it. Maybe he'll go there first--to gather courage.

***

Hyakkimaru and Tarou arrive outside of Jukai's cottage late three days later, cold and wet through. To Hyakkimaru's great surprise, there's a fire lit inside, and the smell of something cooking. He knocks, cautiously, on the door, and is greeted by Daigo's doctor, Kaname.

"Hyakkimaru," Kaname says after a moment. Hyakkimaru introduces Tarou, and Kaname has Tarou watch the pot while he and Hyakkimaru tether the horses and unload them for the night. Hyakkimaru thanks him profusely for the hospitality, and Kaname brushes off his thanks each time. As soon as dinner is over, Tarou is out like a light, and Hyakkimaru clears dishes and gets the kitchen back to regular working order, everything in its place. The routine is soothing and familiar; he starts humming a song he'd heard Iwasa sing once, but he forgets the words to it now.

"You know where everything goes," Kaname remarks.

"Uh," Hyakkimaru says, "well, it's not like there's a lot of space--"

"You're right," Kaname says from his mat on the floor. "I guess I shouldn't have doubted your story about Jukai. You must have lived here for a long time."

"Fifteen years, more or less," Hyakkimaru says. He verifies that the kitchen is clean, then kneels on his own mat on the floor. "I didn't expect it to be maintained, like this. I thought you lived with Daigo."

"Oh, I do," Kaname says, "but this place is close enough, and the forest behind us is full of herbs and poisons. I come out here to gather and work, and report to the palace in the morning."

Hyakkimaru nods. That makes sense. "I wonder what Jukai would think."

Kaname shrugs. "If Daigo was--as he was, ten years ago--I think he would have been appalled."

"So you think he's changed?"

"I know he has," Kaname says. "Not that he's a saint or anything now. But he's trying peace, rather than war. I think Jukai would have approved."

Hyakkimaru gives him another nod. "You're probably right." He stretches out on the floor, and his hip glides over a familiar knot in the planking, and it is almost sinfully comfortable. For all that he hadn't been born in this exact place, it's home. He's asleep before he closes his eyes. 

When he wakes up, Kaname is gone, but he had left them cold rice and leftover soup for breakfast, which he warms over a new fire. He rouses a slightly grumpy Tarou for breakfast and prepares to get back on the road. On the main cutting platform in the kitchen, Hyakkimaru spies a note in spidery writing, somewhat difficult to decipher, but the gist of it is that he's welcome here whenever he travels to Enuma. "Thanks, Kaname," he says.

He's relieved that Jukai's home is not in ruins. It's a small mercy he hadn't been expecting.

Next stop, the Hall of Hell.

***

The Hall of Hell is not much changed from the way it was the last time he'd seen it. Time had washed the stairs clear of blood, and the thatching on the roof has gone to rot in some places, but otherwise it looks just the same. 

He dismounts and squints toward the distant mountains. Tarou dismounts as well, but Hyakkimaru asks him to sit outside. 

"Why?" he asks.

"It's not likely," Hyakkimaru says, "but it could be dangerous in there." If Mizuha is a Hall of Hell demon, any kind of damage is possible.

He ties the horses to a tree and leaves Tarou to guard them, with instructions to yell if he sees anything at all; Hyakkimaru doesn't really like to leave him, but it's safer outside, and he'll be able to reach him in seconds in case of an emergency.

He climbs the steps and pushes the door open, hovering in the entranceway. "Mizuha," he calls, "I'm here."

She floats into the Hall of Hell from the hole in the ceiling, casting red shadows over the floor. "You kept your promise."

"I always do."

Mizuha materializes fully into her ordinary human shape, and lays a hand on one of the broken statues; its misshapen lumpy body reminds Hyakkimaru of Deiki. "These statues," Mizuha says, "do you know what they're for?"

He's seen them before, of course. "They're--representations, I guess. Of the demons in Kaga, before I killed them."

"Oh, they're much more than that." She snaps her fingers and light spreads out around her, a soft glow with no heat to it.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Well...I was the one that told Unga to seal them in statues. He and his son were the men who carved these vessels. I sealed the demons inside once they were caught." She sighs. 

"You? Why? I thought you weren't a demon from Kaga."

"I'm not." She smiles. "I'm not really a demon at all, though you could argue that we're similar... Anyway. Demons like these are my enemies." She touches another broken statue: the kitsune with nine tails. "You know what happens next. Your father unbound them, and you destroyed them, and I--"

The pause lingers, and Hyakkimaru finally asks, "You what?"

"I protected you," she says. "Until your mother gave up on you and lost her faith. And even then, I--"

"Wait, wait, wait," he says. "You're--the Goddess of Mercy?"

"That's one of my names," she says, bending to lift a small Buddha statue from the floor of the temple. "Someone repaired this," she says. "It's good work."

Hyakkimaru barely notices the statue; he is fixated on making sense of what he's just been told. "You--protected me? From what?" 

"From losing your head," she says, "and your heart. The demons wanted those pieces. I was able to keep you alive."

Alive, sure. Limbless, blind, and tragic, but alive. "Why?" he asks. "Why would you care?"

"I care because I am merciful," she says. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Merciful?" he asks. "You think--"

"I think that letting a baby be devoured by demons, with no chance at survival or making things right, is worse than anything--even worse than dying before you're born."

He's not really sure what to say to that. "But you had no way of knowing that I would survive. That Jukai would find me. That I would want to fight--"

"No," she says. "No one sees the future. What I wanted was to give you a chance. You were the one that had to take it."

He collapses to the floor, cross-legged, thinking hard. "Why did you want me to come here? To tell me this?"

"I wanted you to come here when you decided to come back to Kaga," she says. "Not before. Because I thought that then, you would be ready to hear this." She pauses. "And--one other thing."

"What?" he asks quietly, stunned. "What else?"

"Those in Kaga know me as the Goddess of Mercy," she says, "but you encountered me as a demon of fire. And fire destroys. A paradox, of sorts." She folds her arms. "But fire also purifies, and disinfects. I tend to think of myself as light, more than fire. 

"And I would not be able to protect anyone if I couldn't fight." She meets his eyes. "Not you, not me, not anyone else. I'm sure you can understand that much."

Hyakkimaru turns around and his eyes track to Tarou, sitting with the horses. He offers Mizuha a tight nod. "You're saying that I don't need to be ashamed of any fighting, or killing that I've done."

"Not exactly," she says. "I'm saying that fighting and killing are conditional aspects of existence. There are things worth fighting for, and even killing for, and there are not. You have sometimes lost sight of this, but usually not. I hoped this would fill in the last piece of that puzzle for you."

"Puzzle?" He frowns.

"Figuring out what you want to fight for," she says. "Now that you're whole, that's what you need."

"What should I fight for, then?" It seems right to ask: she had saved his life, even before Jukai. 

She smiles sadly. "Only you know that answer. But," she adds after a moment, "I trust your instincts."

He blinks his eyes shut, feeling a tension headache rising like a cascade. 

"So now you know," she says. "I'm glad you came." She lifts and incense burner and three sticks out of a pouch at her waist, and places them before the Buddha statue on the floor. She lights one of the sticks with a flick of her hand, then passes another incense stick to Hyakkimaru.

"Always keep your promises," she says. As the incense stick burns down, she fades away into the smoke.

Hyakkimaru sits there, still, for a very long time. He sits facing the door so that he can see Tarou, who has fallen asleep on the ground near the horses. He wants to, but he can't move; he is stunned at the revelation that he's alive and safe, and that the Hall of Hell demons are really dead, and that a god--an actual god, something more powerful than a demon--had intervened on his behalf, even before he was born.

It's too much. He can't be that special, that important. He knows he's not. He rejects the idea, but the trajectory of his life bears it out. His mother had prayed to Mizuha, and she had spared his life. Jukai had found him, raised him carefully, cared for him like nothing else. Dororo had treated him like family. Demons had treated him like a special enemy. He is and had been all of these things, to all of these people and monsters.

But then--and this thought helps him get his legs under him again--everyone's life is like that, to an extent. Dororo's parents had made extreme sacrifices for her. Tahoumaru had made extreme sacrifices in pursuit of his goals--they were wrongheaded, of course, but that didn't diminish the sacrifice in Hyakkimaru's eyes. Everyone he's ever met that he's admired has had a place to stand, and something to stand for. 

He's been picking up principles and trying out new ways of living somewhat halfheartedly, not understanding that this is the piece he's been missing. He hadn't understood that he got to choose--and that his choices were actually significant. 

The incense burns to nothing, and he moves to leave the Hall as the sun starts going down, but there's someone in his way. At first he thinks it's Tarou, awake and bored, but--

"I heard you were here, but I didn't believe it."

Kagemitsu Daigo is standing in the doorway to the Hall of Hell, hale and well, old wounds scarred over, tall and commanding.

"I'm here," he says simply.

"So I see," Daigo answers. "Dororo wants to see you." 

"Does she know I'm here?" Hyakkimaru asks. "Did you talk to her?"

"No," Daigo says, "Kaname told me where you'd be." Hyakkimaru regrets not asking Kaname to keep his mouth shut. "And Dororo doesn't know you're here, not yet. But the friend you sent to her birthday last year...well, let's just say she hasn't forgotten you."

"Friend?"

"Takeda Iwasa. The lord of your little pet town, I think."

It feels like the air's been punched out of him. First Kaname, now Iwasa. "He didn't tell me anything."

"That's not my concern," Daigo says. "Come with me."

"No," Hyakkimaru says lightly. "Move."

"Where are you going?" Daigo asks without budging an inch.

"I'm going to the farming villages outside Enuma to sell ointment," Hyakkimaru says. Going to Enuma itself now is out of the question, now that he's been spotted. "I would rather pass through here to the farming communities without being seen by anyone." The _including you_ is unspoken, but understood. "Assuming the bridge Deiki destroyed is standing again, that is."

"It is," Daigo says. "Dororo is obsessed with infrastructure. I'll have her meet you there."

"Daigo." No honorific. Cold. "Don't tell her."

"Are you forgetting who's in charge?"

"Are you forgetting who spared your life?" More than once.

And then it's a staring contest. When Hyakkimaru wins it, Daigo sighs. "Why won't you come back and see her? Just once?"

"We both know it wouldn't be just once." His hands are shaking. "You would use her to keep me here, somehow. You lost your poor precious Tahoumaru and need your other son, even if he's worthless to you personally. Well, cry me a river. I won't let you use me. Dororo's agreed to it for whatever reason, and I won't go against her, but I won't fall into the same trap either."

"What are you saying?"

"That you can't have me," he says. "Not now. Not ever." The choices Mizuha had told him about had to mean something, be good for something: this is his life, and he'll choose where he stands.

When he speaks again, Daigo's voice is quiet. "When I was your age, I had four brothers. Older. I was the baby--the runt--and considered pretty worthless." He offers Hyakkimaru a bitter smile. "By the time I was twenty-five all but one of them was dead. My parents died fleeing battle, both wounded, no place safe to run in time. 

"And on the night I came to the Hall of Hell for the first time, my last brother had just passed, leaving all of his responsibility to me." He pauses. "It didn't seem like much of a difference, in terms of day-to-day life. I already governed a fief. His death just made it bigger. And it put all the responsibility on me. The one that was never expected to amount to much of anything."

"Does this story about why you decided to throw me out have a point?" Hyakkimaru bites out.

"I'm getting to it," Daigo says. "As I said, when I went to the Hall of Hell the first time...well, I wasn't expecting it to work. But I needed to try something, anything, to be more powerful. Less worthless. So I tried. And the demons are--were--real. I had already sacrificed my family to war. You were to be another sad casualty, of course, but I'd lost so much by that time that I could rationalize it easily. I'm sure I put your mother through hell." Another pause. "This isn't an apology. If I had to do it over again, I would. That hasn't changed. But I want you to understand that it wasn't personal."

Hyakkimaru's head jerks up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if I could have known who you would become, I wouldn't have tossed you away," he says. "You've made me think about the raw potential in people. It's the reason I haven't killed Dororo, and the reason why Kaga has been at peace for the past few years. I'm testing people's capabilities to see how much they can grow. Some of them disappoint me, but--but most of them are like you. Surprising. Powerful in ways I've never seen." He steeples his fingers. "And I've found some of that potential in myself, though if you're anything like me, you'll understand that the feeling of being cast aside doesn't ever go away."

Hyakkimaru gulps in air, trying to hold in what he's feeling because, at last at last _at last_, Daigo gets it. He understands the thing he hadn't been able to when they'd last met: how to live as a person. Adaptability, change, growth. Potential.

"Daigo," he says, but it's not cold or cruel this time. "Let's destroy this place."

Daigo's eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Because there are no demons in Kaga anymore," Hyakkimaru says. "And I want to remake this place as something new."

"You want to do it? Yourself?"

Hyakkimaru's lips twitch upward. "Yeah. I guess so."

***

When Dororo overhears Kaname's conversation with Daigo, she doesn't believe it: Hyakkimaru has come back. He's come as a merchant of all things, selling ointment for burns, and she hadn't been able to make out everything, but she thinks Kaname had said he was going to pass the bridge south into the surrounding villages.

It's the bridge where she and Hyakkimaru had met. That can't be a coincidence--can it? 

The timing is something she overhears clearly: within two hours. With her horse, she could make it in one. But then Daigo would know where she's going. She chews her lip and her thoughts race and she doesn't have a lot of time; she has to make a decision. She ties her hair up with nervous hands and decides to sneak out. She's out of practice, but she should be able to manage it--and if she takes some old shortcuts, she may be able to make it in time.

As she's running, it occurs to her that Kaname might have said that Hyakkimaru had already gone over the bridge and has been gone for two hours, but she doesn't let the thought deter her. At first, she's recognized; Ryouma yells at her to at least put on shoes, and Hiroko stops her for a second to fix her hair, but as she gets farther out into the city her face is less known, and she doesn't see any of Daigo's people pursuing her when she looks over her shoulder. She's wearing a red patterned kimono, nice but not necessarily noble clothing, and she's barefoot, so after a time no one pays her much attention except to get out of her way.

Foot traffic around Enuma's bridge south is crowded, and Dororo has to weave through without running for a while before she can see the people crossing. She uses the time to catch her breath. She's soaked almost through from sweating, but she'll worry about that later. She catches glimpses of people in the crowd: merchants mostly, but some customers, and seemingly a million children crowding the sweets vendors. This isn't like she remembers it five or six years ago; not at all. Her eyes track up to the roofs. Still fixed. Traffic thins as she gets to the bridge itself, and she catches a glimpse of long black-red hair done in a familiar style, next to a child sitting on a horse. 

She's out of breath and dehydrated, so for a second she thinks what she's seeing may be a mirage, or an illusion. He can't be here. But it looks like him: similar height, the same hair color, the same straight and precise way of moving. She runs faster as she approaches the bridge, and as she gets closer she verifies that it's no mistake: He's here now. Impossibly, inexplicably, here. She made it in time.

She runs flat out, hair streaming out behind her unbound, blowing into her mouth and eyes. She doesn't bother to push it out of the way; she can see what she needs to.

He hears the commotion behind him as people part for her, and when he gets a glimpse of her he smiles. It's well past noon, and the sun is behind him, giving his outline a clean pure white aura, and she really hopes she's not seeing his ghost--

She crashes into him on the bridge, unable to stop her momentum in time, and they go sprawling to the ground in a heap. Well--not a ghost, then. She lets out a long breath in relief. Horses surrounding them spook and rush forward in the wake of her charge, and she rolls to the side and offers apologies to everyone, then offers Hyakkimaru a hand up. "Are you okay?" she asks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

Hyakkimaru puts up a hand to silence her. "I'm fine." And he smiles again. "You haven't changed at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's patience and the kindness of those who have commented/kudosed. This "Dororo" adventure is over now, and I hope it didn't disappoint.
> 
> This fic already has a sequel, though I may need a short palate cleanser before tackling it head-on.


End file.
